Virgule Watteau: War Detective
by Darren1138
Summary: Virgule Watteau, famous detective of the 1930's, is about to overcome the biggest series of cases she has ever faced. Can she solve them and help with America's war effort against the Axis in World War 2? STORY HAS RETURNED!
1. Pouring In Ideas

**Virgule Watteau: War Detective**

 **Arthur is © of Marc Brown and 9 Story Entertainment**

 **A/N~ Hello all! I just want to pop up and announce that Virgule Watteau has made her comeback!**

 **I put a lot of thought on this and I feel like I should rejuvenate the series by re-uploading the story again. This time, I'm going to try and not procrastinate and leave it in the dust. But so far, after writing more and more, I feel like my understanding towards story-telling gets better and better.**

 **So now, here I leave you with the return of the story XD**

 **Chapter 1: Pouring in Ideas**

One morning in a small house in Elwood City, a young and eager writer was practically almost all day in her room coming up with the ultimate masterpiece. Something that outclasses all her other works. She adored detective or mystery novels and practiced her literature skills through role playing and her doll sets. For now she is coming up with a premise to start her new work. Her name is Fern Walters and her stories were mostly about her "alter ego"; a 1930's French detective named Virgule Watteau. And that's what THIS story is going to be about.

As she was about to put her pencil to use, a few knocks on the door stopped her. She sighed at the thought her mom would give her what seemed to be an endless amount of chores.

"Come in." she called out. As the door opened in, it was indeed her mom, but instead of a list of chores, there was a different type of news.

"Fern, George is here to see you." Fern smiled as her good friend from school entered the room to accompany her as she was writing.

"Hey George." she greeted

"Hey Fern." George greeted back.

"Well I'm going to prepare tea." said Miss Walters. "Make yourself at home, George."

"Sure thing, Miss Walters." As Ms Walters left the room to make refreshments for the two, the kid duo tended to Fern's work.

It's a bummer that I didn't get to go with the others to summer camp." said George. "I couldn't even leave the house now that my parents are out to a week's vacation with their friends."

"Well I wasn't in the mood for outdoor stuff so I didn't really bother packing" reassured Fern. "But you're welcome here anytime, George."

"So what's the scoop this time?" asked George. Fern sat down on her bed and was ready to reveal her plans for her new story.

"I just thought of something after Mr Ratburn's class on World War II. Something that outranks ALL my other works!"

"Is it going to be another one of Ladonna's wacky tales?" George asked. Fern giggled as she remembered the time when she couldn't think of a story to write and consulted to her classmate from Louisiana for help.

"No silly. What if the great Virgule Watteau and her sidekick Bastings went on the adventure of their lives? A single conflict brings them to their biggest set of cases and mysteries yet. It all begins now!"

"And about WWII?"

"That's sorta the setting of the story."

"You're going to get Watteau involved in the fighting?"

"Well not exactly. But rather help out at home. You know, detectives solving cases in America."

"Sounds like a plausible idea. But how are you going to start it off?" But Fern rested her head on her hands as she placed her elbows on her desk.

"That's where I'm stuck at." she said. "I don't really know where to begin."

"Hey, which reminds me." George had something in mind. "I have this book about war posters from my uncle for my birthday last month. Wanna take a look for a bit?" Fern needed a break from half an hour's worth of brainstorming for her premise. She nodded in agreement. George opened up his bag that he brought along with him and rummaged into it. He felt for his book when he took rather different item. It was an action figure of Bionic Bunny.

"Oops. I forgot to give this back to Buster at school." He put the figure back into the bag and continued searching. He finally took out a blue book with Rosie the Riveter's "We Can Do It!" signature poster. They opened the book and read through the various war posters. They were quite amazed about how these symbolic pieces of art. They saw that most posters symbolized victory, the need for freedom and liberty and safety in the home front. But there were others that were rather disturbing.

"Yikes!" she yelped after looking at a very traumatizing, medieval-styled German poster. "These German posters are kinda scary."

"They did terrorize Europe back then." added George.

"And some of the Russian posters were just as scary, but some of the others are quite patriotic. I liked the American and British ones best. I can see how influential these works of paintings were." Just then, Fern's eyes and smile widened as if she had one of those "eureka!" moments.

"I got it!" she jumped.

"Got what?" asked George, curiously.

"My story! I now have an idea on how it will begin."

"Great! So you wanna get to it?"

"I suppose. Thanks for bringing the book over." George raised an eyebrow.

"Huh? That was what you had in mind?" he asked again.

"Something like that. Let's get to work. Wanna help me out?"

In a British accent, George gave a proper thumbs up.

"Bastings reporting for duty!" Both sat on Fern's bed and Fern grabbed her pencil. She took out her notebook and was prepared for the beginning of her masterpiece.

 **To be continued…**

 **A/N~ I've watched Arthur when I was a little kid and when I watched it again this year, I couldn't help but re-watch it and catch up on what I've missed. And I didn't think Fern and George would gain my interest that quickly, basically because Fern likes to write, just like me and George has an understanding for people under special conditions. So I hope this first Arthur fic makes a good impression. Please read and review!**

 **I've been quite busy with my college work that I don't really have time to update the other Transformers and Power Rangers fics for this site. I hope I can find time once the pressure is off.**


	2. Fitting In

**Chapter 2: Fitting In**

 **(A/N~ Story told by Fern. And just in case, Watteau and Bastings will be played by Fern and George)**

December 5th, 1941,

It was a dark and cold night in the streets of New York City. As cars rolled by the busy roads and pedestrians walking by. In an old littered alleyway somewhere in the middle of the city, there were people with rugged clothing and shabby footwear, sitting down on the cold, cracked floor, suffering under the harsh conditions of the Depression that put most of the people's population under poverty and unemployment. Just then, a shadow loomed over the road. Its owner, a dark and mysterious person in a blue trench coat and a bowler hat for attire walked slowly along the alley, with a cane in hand. As she passed by a lone sleepy beggar, she tossed a coin on his shabby hat and moved on. Moments later, she was at a doorway of an old apartment building. There was also another similarly dressed man waiting outside. The two approached one another. The female person raised her lowered head to face the man.

" _Bonjour_ , my dear Bastings." asked the French woman. "How fares your search for ze suspect?"

"Quite well, Watteau." responded Bastings. "You're just in time."

Ah yes, the great Virgule Watteau, known for her crafty detective skills and witty attitude. The best detective in all of Paris, now here in the United States of America, along with her trusty English partner, Bastings.

"The suspect lives right in this creepy looking building." said Bastings

" _Oui_." agreed Watteau. "These American buildings are rather mysterious as zey come, _mon ami_. Let us knock on ze door and meet him face-to-face."

"Right-o, champ."

" _Excusez moi_?" She raised an eyebrow.

"You know, how we English say "friend"? _Mon ami?_ "

"Ah yes, ze English slang, _oui?_ Come on, then."

They rang the doorbell and waited for the recipient to respond. Who would come to greet them? Would there be a mob of angry thieves coming to work them up? Or perhaps a trap contraption waiting to be sprung at them? Or maybe…

(Door opens and out comes an innocent woman)

"Yes? Can I help you?" Fortunately enough, there was only a middle-aged woman at the door, with no signs of hostilities.

" _Oui,_ madame." Watteau greeted the woman. "We came to see to your son. A… Ronald Patterson?"

"Oh? I don't think he is expecting anyone tonight."

"And why not madam?" asked Bastings. As far as they knew, the woman didn't look like she would do anything to the two detectives, let alone not knowing anything about what was going on.

"Well right now, he's asleep. He just got back from the clinic." she explained.

"Asleep?" Bastings wondered. "Are you sure?"

"Why yes. He's soundly in his bed right now." But Watteau was not convinced. She grabbed her chin and thought deeply.

"If it's okay with you, madame." Watteau asked. "May we at least see him for ourselves?"

"Um, okay. If you'd like. But I must warn you, he's a very deep sleeper."

"Oh we'll be on our best behaviour, won't we, Bastings?"

"Certainly." agreed her trusty sidekick.

The two courageous partners walked into the rather docile-looking home. They followed the young lady up the stairs and into a room. This was it. The lair of the possible suspect behind the theft of the Golden Necklace of Mandelius. But as the door opened to reveal this dark room, we could nothing but a bed and… him! The suspect, Ronald Patterson. It seemed as if the young madam was right. The young man was lying down on the bed, snoring loudly with his glasses on. Watteau watched him closely. For over a minute, she looked on and on. Then, the verdict has been reached.

"Well, I rest my case." said Watteau. "He is lying peacefully…"

She seemed to walk out of the room.

"…unless…"

She reached her arms at the sleeping man and…

"AHA!"

Ronald jumped out as high as he could. The shock was not out of a rude awakening but rather it looked like he was expecting the great detective to have left.

"How did you know?!" the shocked and guilty man yelled. He finally confessed.

"Oh but ze great Watteau knows…"

Half an hour later, we see Ronald being taken away by the local police. The mother looked on, sobbing at the sight of her son who had committed a crime behind her back. Watteau and Bastings comforted the young woman and walked off to the alleyway.

"Another case closed here in ze Big Apple." gloated Watteau.

"By George, Watteau! Oh wait that was weird." said Bastings.

"What was?"

"Every time I say "By George" I… There. That strange feeling."

"Isn't zat English slang?"

"Yeah but… ah never mind."

They continued their trek towards the nearest taxi stop. "

Anyway, how on Earth did you know he was faking?" asked Bastings. "Even I was convinced."

"You figure it out." Such was Watteau's answer. "I will give three guesses."

"Um…?" He thought hard. "Was it his snoring? It was rather loud."

"Nope."

"He was… sleeping facing up?"

"Try again. And you sleep like that too."

"He… uh… didn't have a bath when he should?" Watteau leaned on her cane.

"Bastings, no one would sleep with zheir glasses on, right?" She finally gave the answer.

"No one would sleep with their…?" His face brightened. "Oh! Now I get it! Jolly good show!"

"Nothing ze good Watteau can't handle."

And once again, the great Watteau solves another mystery. With the duo on the prowl, no one was safe from them.

 **(A/N~ Ronald is not played by Arthur. And so his mum wasn't played by Jane Read as well)**

"Wait, what does this have to do with my poster book?" asked George.

"Hang on, George. A good writer is a patient one. And you don't have to wait long. Now where was I? Oh yes."

Six days have passed and in that morning, the detectives are taking a well-deserved break from crime-busting in their office. Recently, America was not the same to them anymore. The nation was rising up against isolationism. America was at war! The Japanese Empire bombed Pearl Harbour and people were marching here and there to play their part in the newly-declared war. But as for the two detectives, there's not much of a reaction. They continued to settle in with their work. Bastings was out for a bagel while Watteau was sitting idly at her desk. It was full of the typical paperwork, piled up in a big stack of it, and a table lamp to fill the eerie darkness. She was waiting for the nearby phone to ring, signalling her next mission. But all she could do is relax, hands behind her hand, laying her chair back and her feet on the table. Her radio was playing out a slow and sad French song. The next minute, Bastings came in with his bagel.

"Oh dear. Who turned off the lights?" He turned on the ceiling light. But Watteau didn't look like she needed a little light in her room.

"It was perfect for ze atmosphere, Bastings." she complained.

"Well, how could anyone do their work in darkness?" Watteau tapped her cane on the table lamp.

"Oh right." Bastings closed the door behind him. "You should see what happened out there! The store was empty! People are now so focused on war against Japan, the bagel store was practically empty."

"Well, what would you expect?" said Watteau. "Ze factories developing ze munitions and weapons should compensate for the unemployment. Good reason, _we?_ Well, no time to waste. Let us get back to work."

Bastings returned to his desk. Watteau opened her drawer to search for something to do, for the lonely office room was giving her no fun. Then, she took out a piece of paper. She looked at it for a while. Bastings could see a tear coming down her cheek. What was this tear, he wondered. Was it a tear of tiredness? Or was it tear of a painful memory? Bastings knew too well about what it was. He got up from his chair and approached his superior.

"You still missing your family?" he asked quietly.

" _Oui."_ Watteau sniffed. "It has been a year since I left Paris. A year after ze Germans took over France. I was with zhem before they took Paris. But after I left, they didn't follow." Another tear slowly descended. "What if zey didn't manage to make it?" Her voice grew tenser. "What if ze Germans got zem?" And tenser still. "What if… what if…?" She couldn't take it anymore. She covered her face with her hands as she cried her heart out. Bastings sat next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

"Don't worry, my good fellow." Bastings reassured her with the greatest of care. "I'm sure they'll be fine. I'm sure the Resistance was able to save them."

Watteau slowly stopped her crying. She wiped off the tears and smiled at her caring partner. If there was one thing that made Bastings the perfect partner, it was being there for his superior when she was feeling the blues.

" _Merci beacoup,_ Bastings. I'm really glad to have you as my partner. It was you and you father who got me out of ze horrible nightmare."

"Likewise, Watteau. You will be with them again. I'm just as worried for my father too. He is probably taking on the Jerries in Africa by now."

"Hmmm."

Suddenly, the drama ended with the radio broadcast suddenly changing from the sappy 20's music to a news broadcast.

"We interrupt this broadcast with breaking news! Word just came in from the American ambassador of Germany that Hitler has declared war on the United States! Repeat, Germany is at war with America! It was also reported that Italy has also joined Germany in this sudden chain of events. It is clear that America will have to fight on two fronts in this hour of darkness and war. More news coming up after these messages!"

Watteau turned off the radio. It was bad enough the Germans took her home country of Belgium and then France. But now, it seems that America was next.

"Well, Bastings. It looks like ze Germans are not playing around anymore."

"They are rather ambitious. Did you hear the news? They're at the gates of Moscow too."

"Zis is not good at all. But one good zhing has come out of zhis." She smiled to Bastings. "England is no longer alone. Salvation has arrived for your king and country, _mon ami_."

"Now that you mentioned it. Yeah. Fear not. Let us pray for the best. Now we have to focus on our…"

Just then, the phone rang. Watteau picked it up and answered the call.

" _Bonjour_. Zis is Virgule Watteau's office. Uh huh. _Oui?_

Then, Bastings saw it. A small grin on her face. This could mean only one thing.

" _Oui_ , _Monsieur_ Director, we are on our way." The phone is put down. Watteau readied her cane and magnifying glass. She put on her trench coat.

"Come, Bastings." she called. "We have another mystery to solve."

Bastings got up from his seat.

"Tally-ho!" he shouted.

As he exited the room, Watteau stopped and looked at the small piece of paper again. She blew a kiss on it and put it back in her drawer. She then walked out to catch up with Bastings. As we look closer into the drawer, we could see a small picture of a happy family in a countryside. A little girl stood in the middle of her parents, crouching down at her level. We can clearly see, that the little girl in the picture, was Watteau herself.

 **To be continued…**

"Well?" asked Fern, hoping that her friend acknowledged her work. She gave a little longer time to read the rest for a few minutes. George had a slight case of dyslexia, which almost hindered him from reading words.

"Not bad for a start." he acknowledged. "I actually liked it a lot." One thing Fern liked from her stories was positive feedback she got from her friends.

"Glad you did." Then, she looked at her wall clock. Its big hand was pointing to the north-east direction while the small one pointed south-east. "Say, I think mom should be done setting up refreshments. Wanna come down now?"

"Sure. And maybe afterwards, we can help inspire you with a little outdoor role-playing?"

"You're on." She placed down the pencil and notebook and the two kids walked down the stairs. Another exciting adventure coming up after this!

 **A/N~ Well, how was that? I hope you liked it! Read and review!**


	3. The Mystery of the Missing Posters

**Chapter 3: The Mystery of the Missing Posters**

After a bit of tea to quench their thirst and to satisfy their appetite, Fern and George were now busy role-playing outside the Walters' residence as their respective detective characters. As time went by, so did progress for Fern on getting in newer ideas for her next chapters.

"Aha!" exclaimed Fern, in a French accent "Ee-enteresting find here."

"What?" asked George, speaking like an English man. "Is it a clue?"

"A lollypop stick!" Fern picked up what appeared to be a lollypop stick with a bite dent on it. "Zis could mean only one thing." Playing his part, George acted like he was shocked.

"You mean?"

"Yes _mon ami._ Zis is ze work of ze Grey Dove!"

"Blimey. How would he...?"

"Oh he must have followed us here, Bastings. "

"But how, Watteau? How?" George's voice got real tense, as if he really wanted to know the answer.

"Aha! I... I... uh..." Unfortunately, the mystery was cut short, and so was the role-playing.

"I don't know, George. Better update on that later." said Fern, in her old accent.

"Okay." George agreed, coming back to his usual voice as well. He looked at his watch. "I better get going. I have to be back home earlier today now that my parents aren't at home."

"Aww. And I was coming to the good part. Do you really have to go?"

"I got no choice. What if a robber comes in and takes everything in the house before I can even get to the front door?"

"Good point." Fern sighed. "Well an orders' an order." But then, Fern had an idea. She still needed someone to help her with her story for now.

"Why don't I come with you? Not even your little sister's at home. So you could use some company."

"Really?" His face lit up with a smile as Fern nodded.

"I'll go ask my mum and see if I can go. I mean it's still early anyway." She ran back home to do so. George sat under a tree at the garden. After two minutes, she came back out with her notebook and pencil. "Let's go. She said I can spend time until dinner."

"Until dinner? Gee. She must really want you to socialize."

Just then, a loud rumble is heard over the distance.

"Uh oh. We better scoot or we'll end up as soggy as my notebook's going to be soon." George couldn't agree better. They rushed on to George's place at just a stone's throw away. Minutes have passed and rain was pouring real badly. The two entered George's room upstairs, soaked from the initial drizzle.

"Brrrrr." Fern shivered as she was completely soaked and freezing. George had also seen better days. "The downpour came faster than I thought."

George went downstairs for a bit and later, came back with two clean bath towels for Fern and himself to dry off with.

"Well it could've been worse." He then moved and opened his closet door. He then took out a giraffe puppet made of wood. It was also wearing a green tuxedo.

"Ah good afternoon, Wally. _Er hey there. And don't you mean a rainy afternoon? Sheesh, your dyslexia is giving you a real blind eye!"_ Fern giggled as George displayed his ventriloquism to give 'life' to the puppet. The puppet under George's control then looked and showed its hand to Fern. " _Hello hello Fern!_ " Fern shook it.

"Heya Wally." greeted Fern. "My, you're getting better at this, George." George turned Wally's face to his own.

" _Er, what is she saying?_ I dunno Wally. Maybe it's my manners. _Hey, who's the one with the introductions, huh?_ " Fern laughed lightly. She then took her notebook.

"So, shall we begin?" asked Fern. George nodded in agreement.

"Let's get on with the story." he said. " _Can I see too?_ "

"Sure." Fern chuckled. They went to George's study table. George prepared his chair for Fern and another for himself. "Thanks."

" _Hey, what about me?_ Come on." He placed his puppet on his lap.

"Let's see." said Fern, tapping the pencil on her chin. "Where were we? Ah!" As Fern began writing on her notebook, we go back to the adventures of Virgule Watteau.

 _16th March 1942,_

In a small building not far from New York Square, we see our heroes, Virgule Watteau and her partner, Bastings, in the middle of a conversation with a man in casual clothing named Adam Knuckles. He was busy sending out newly - designed war posters to the War Department. She examined the vicinity for clues. Every nook and cranny she searched. Using her magnifying glass, she checked and checked. Bastings was in the middle of questioning.

"Oh thank goodness you could come and investigate, Miss Watteau." thanked the man, shakingly.

"It is our duty, _Monsieur_ Adam." responded Watteau. Adam was quite a nervous wreck. He was jiggling and fiddling with his fingers as the search went on. And his hands had a somewhat tasty essence, according to Bastings.

"Do hurry. If I don't send those posters to the War Department soon, I'm going to be a bane to this country! Darn if only I'd stay here instead of going out for a cup of coffee. Just one cup!"

"Fear not, Mr. Knuckles." said Bastings. "We will find the culprit in no time." Watteau checked for clues, walking from here and there, endlessly examining the shelves, tables and even the priting press machine. All she could find were dust, rust and cobwebs. But then, something caught her attention.

"Aha! Bingo!" She extended her hand to a shelf above her. However, Bastings caught sight of what Watteau had found and...

"Wait!" Bastings let out a warning yell, causing Watteau to quickly halt. Bastings rushed over and checked. He took a bit of a sort of spreading. "Hah! Peanut butter."

"Phew! Once again, you saved Watteau from another 'orrible rash, _mon ami._ " thanked Watteau.

"Pardon me, Mr. Knuckles." explained Bastings. "Watteau has a rather serious case of allergies with peanuts." But he then licked the butter, much to Watteau's disgust.

"Eck, Bastings..." She then turned to Adam Knuckles. "Well, _Monsieur_ Knuckles. We believe ze criminal has a razher, distinctive taste for ze peanut butter." Adam was once again being all jittery and nervous. It was probably all from the tension of letting down the war effort for America. But then, Bastings pointed out a deeper theory.

"Watteau." he called. The witty detective walked over to her partner, curious on what explanation he would come up with.

" _Oui,_ Bastings?"

"Who else we know of knows your allergies for peanut butter?" Bastings asked. Watteau held her chin as she thought about the people who were aware of her condition.

"Hmmmm... There's my family, your fazher, and..." Just as she was about to mention the next name, her eyes widenened and her face was filled with anxiety and at the same time, expectation, for this was a name that had her on her toes for as long as she could remember as a detective. "...ze Grey Dove."

The Grey Dove. A reckless and infamous criminal who stalked the streets of Europe ever since Watteau was first assigned as a detective. Every week or month, this sneaky little thief had been stealing some of the finest treasures all of Europe had to offer. There was no stop until Watteau would crack the case and his plans. The last Watteau and Bastings had heard from him, he was caught attempting a theft at the French Lourve prior to the German invasion of France almost ten days later.

"But how could he have come here?" asked Bastings. "And why?"

"We shall find out soon enough." But then, as the investigation carried on further, the lights suddenly went off in a blink of an eye! "What in ze world?"

"Who turned off the lights?" To make things worse, a loud scream was heard. Two seconds later, the lights were back on. And this time, the two detectives were astonished at the change of things after the darkness was illuminated.

"Blimey! Mr Knuckles is gone!" exclaimed Bastings when he noticed the absence of the timid worker. Watteau placed her finger on her lips.

"Ee-nteristing."

"Quick, Watteau! The opened door suggests that he might have been pulled out from there." But as Bastings ran out of the door, Watteau then spotted something on the floor at where the nervous poster worker was standing on. She picked it up. It was a small piece of torn paper. It had black edges that looked like it was burned. But a short "We C-" is seen.

"Hmmm." Without wasting precious time, she put the burned pirce of paper inside her pocket and ran to catch up with Bastings.

After running out of the building, Bastings, followed later by Watteau, ran out to the back alleyway, a large area with a few streetlights and trash cans. They checked everywhere for signs of the missing poster man.

"Look around, Bastings." ordered Watteau. "Ze criminal must be around here somewhere." They looked into dumpsters only for cats or rats to run out of them. One cat gave Bastings such a fright when it jumped out and hissed at him before running out. They looked around corners. They even looked up at the rooftops. Just as Watteau was divising a new plan, Bastings looked up at pointed right at the sky.

"Up there. Scoundrel ho!" A silhouette of a large man with a top hat and a cape, and what appeared to be a large bag, hopped right across one building to another like it was a monkey!

"Quick! We shall take..."

"The abbreviated route. I know. I know." They ran as fast as they could to catch up with the crook. As they caught sight of the silhouette again, they could see that it seemed like it was also carrying someone. They expected that it was Adam being abducted. As they approached the backway of a diner joint, they stopped to find the figure had landed slowly in front of them. Watteau prepared herself to confront the man in the shrouds. Who could it be?

"We meet again, Grey Dove."

 **(A/N~ Grey Dove is played by Binky Barnes** )

"How'd you know it was me?" The old time foe walked out to the scene, with Adam having his hands tied behind his back and mouth taped.

"Call it an..."

"What? An 'oonch?"

"Haha (sarcastically). Mock me all you want. You, _mon ami,_ are in big trouble."

"Now release the captive." demanded Bastings. The Grey Dove then untied the victim, put him down and set him free.

"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you." The trembling and traumatized man couldn't stop thanking his two saviours. "Quick! Arrest him."

"My pleasure." As Bastings moved to apprehend the crook, he took extreme precautions for not to make things ugly between them. Surprisingly, however, the Grey Dove willingly showed his hands and was ready to be cuffed. Bastings moved in. It looked like the case was finally solved.

"Wait!" Bastings halted at the sudden call from Watteau. All was silent. She looked at everyone present. "Zis is getting a little too easy. Bastings. Hand me zhat bag." Bastings tended to the bag. The Grey Dove still did nothing. Bastings carried the bag to Watteau. She looked into the bag.

"Okay, you got me. You foiled my latest plan to steal ze posters. In an attempt to make millions of American dollars, I stole zhem, but I wanted more, so I decided to abduct zis pitiful worker to do the work for me."

"You were pretty bad at hiding your crime." cleared Bastings. "Next time, try losing the peanut butter from your hands first before you attempt something."

"What do you mean? I didn't use any peanut butter."

"Then how do you explain the food that was on the shelf in the scene of the crime, which I regret tasting earlier."

"Why would I eat peanut butter? I know it is Watteau's weakness but I know it is not right to leave any traces."

"Which is rather the opposite."

"Eeenteresting." She was done surveying the bag and stepped up to the criminal. "Are you sure you **stole** zhem? Or did you **BURN** zhem?" Everyone was shocked! It seemed like the Grey Dove abducted the poor Adam Knuckles and took his posters in that large sack. But the great Watteau suspected something else? That the posters were burned? When Bastings opened the sack, all he saw... was black ash and bits of burnt paper.

"By George, how... there's that whoppin' feeling. How did you figure that out?" wondered Bastings. Watteau reached for her pocket and pulled out…

"I found... Zis!" The bit of burned paper she found on the floor! Everyone gasped, except the Dove. Adam gasped out in full horror.

"What have you done?!" he yelled.

"Well, zhere!" cleared the Grey Dove. "I admit you are clever, Watteau. Now, if you will be so kind to..."

"Ah ah. Not yet." Watteau walked around and around the suspect. And then to Bastings and even Mr. Knuckles. It was clear that the case was still far from over. She leaned on her cane with that mysterious detective style...

... And she began.

"It is clear now." began Watteau. "Ze Grey Dove... is not ze only crook here."

The Grey Dove was not alone? What could Watteau have in mind?

"Not just the Grey Dove?"

"Let us ask..." She swung her cane and pointed it at…

" _Monsieur_ Adam Knuckles!"

"What? M-me?"

Adam Knuckles? A suspect? The mystery thickened and so did the curiosity.

"When I circled you earlier, I found zis on your shirt." She showed another bit of burned poster work. Only the eyes and nose of a soldier were visible. Adam was definitely becoming more nervous.

"Uh, I-I..."

"And you said you were out for coffee when ze crime happened."

"I can explain... Really…"

"Hold up." stopped Bastings. "I also seemed to notice something as well. May I?" Even Bastings had some supporting evidence which now he had realized.

"Of course." Watteau obliged and Bastings walked to Adam and grabbed his right hand. He then sniffed it. "Aha! I knew it. Your hand smells of peanut butter! And you said you just had coffee earlier."

"I-I..."

"Well, _Monsieur_ Adam. What is your defence?" Adam shook with all of his strength. His face filled with fear and anxiety. Then, he stomped his foot.

"Okay fine! I did it! I burnt the posters." The crime has been brought to light. It was Adam Knuckles, the poster boy, who had committed the crime. Now for the plan to be revealed.

"I couldn't argue about contributing to America by sending these posters. But you know how much I gained for this effort? 100 dollars! Per month! Like there's not enough money to help us win the war! My boss can't give me a modest income so I decided to get even. I hired the Grey Dove when he approached me last week. I took all the posters I could carry and burnt them all outside the backyard. All of it! Then I'd ask the Grey Dove to take it all the remains away. It would all be done successfully if you hadn't shown up sooner. My reasons are fair. Why should I be wrong?!"

Watteau had been paying full attention to the story. The only response she gave was a shake of her head.

"I'm afraid ze War Department was clear about how we will deal with ze one responsible. Bastings, arrest him." Bastings placed the cuffs on Adam's hands. The guilt was obvious on his face. The case of the burning posters was solved.

With one case was settled, Watteau now had time to deal with another.

"And as for you,..." As she turned her attention to her long-time enemy, she found him running away out of the alley!

"Ha Ha Ha!" Watteau groaned in complete frustration.

"Bastings, wait for ze cops." she ordered Bastings to tend to the captured crook. "I got him!" The chase was on. Detective against criminal. The Dove may not be entirely involved, but he still helped in a crime. Moreover, Watteau wanted answers. How did the Grey Dove escape Paris? Why America? All very intriguing questions.

The pursuit continued, through the streets, at the city square, and finally to the docks. The scheming criminal ran along the wooden jetty until he had nowhere to run. All in front of him was pure ocean. Watteau was able to catch up because of this and confronted him once again.

"Okay, _Monsieur_ Grey Dove." said Watteau. "How did you get here? And why? Tell me before I 'ave to do you in."

"Oh you want to know? Well, it was quite simple. Remember ze Dunkirk evacuations?"

George: Wait. What's that?

Fern: Have you been paying attention to Mr. Ratburn?

George: Sorry. I just couldn't focus with Buster chewing his gum.

Fern: *sigh* Never mind. I doubt many would know of the event right away.

29th May, 1940. Dunkirk, France.

The war was being fought in Europe. But France was on the verge of a humiliating defeat. The Germans were coming. All there was left to hold out against them were thousands of British and French troopers waiting to be shipped out to the safety of the British Isles.

"Oh now I remember."

"Hush."

But they were not the only ones. Among the crowd was a lone young woman, in detective wear. We can tell it was Watteau herself. She was carrying her equipment in her backpack. She took a look back sadly. She could see smoke rising over a hill. Knowing that the Germans were getting closer, she hesistantly continued her walk to some of the evacuation ships. She looked around for a probable ship to board. Just then, she heard a familiar voice. A youthful call of British accent, calling her name. She saw the owner of that voice. She saw her old partner, Bastings aboard one of the vessels. She ran to the ship. Up the deck, approached him. She finally smiled since she left home behind.

"I zhought you were in London by now." said Watteau, still teary-eyed.

"When I heard my dad was going to Dunkirk, I knew it would be an evacuation mission. So I took the chance that I might see you."

"How could I ever do my work without my trusty sidekick?"

"Come. Let us catch up on things." They both walked up to the deck. Watteau took one last look at her home soil. A tear dropped down her cheek as the memories she had in France lingered in her mind. All Bastings could do was placing his hand on her shoulder. He had never seen her this emotional ever. Watteau gave a soft smile to Bastings.

"You have never seen me like zis, right?" she said.

"No but everyone can get sappy sometimes."

"True enough. But you know we can't conduct our work in London. Knowing the Germans, zhey will attack ze city."

"How about America? The Yanks want out of this war. Might as well set shop there." Watteau nodded in compliance.

"Very good idea, Bastings. It is a start."

Unbeknownst to the reunited duo, a huge crate was being by a French soldier. In that crate was not any food. There weren't any weapons or ammo either. Instead, inside that anonymous crate, a stoaway lay in wait. As he opened up the box, he rose from the box, dusting off the dust that covered his suit for hours. We see it was none other than the Grey Dove. He coughed up the last bit of dust caught in his throat.

"Pfft pfa! At least it is betteir zhen a sarcophagus." He walked away from the supplies and continued to lurk in the ship. He would eventually drop down to the United States, waiting for the right time to once again wreak havoc upon the innocent.

"And zat is how I came to America. I followed you two all ze way here. Unknowingly of course." Watteau, having finally getting the answers she needed, whacked her cane on the wooden floor below her.

"Well you have ended up in my sights again, _monsieur._ Prepare to be arrested!" But the Grey Dove wasn't going to give up. He charged at Watteau at full speed. She dodged the charging criminal while giving him a whack of her cane. She then proceeded to grab a rope and swung it like a cowboy's lasso. She threw the hooped end at the recovering Dove. He was wrapped in a constriction of Watteau's rope. As she tugged and tugged, the struggling Grey Dove tried and tried to escape. But the heroine detective was finally able to catch him. She held him by the collar.

"Now I got you zis time." However, the Grey Dove had one last trick up his sleeve. He head-butted Watteau with such force that it felt like a baseball hitting your head. She fell to the ground, barely conscious. The Grey Dove freed himself and jumped onto a rowboat.

"Ha ha ha! I would normally never hit a girl, but you, I made an exception." The nasty crook rowed away as he laughed the dusk away.

A few minutes later, Bastings arrived. He saw Watteau barely moving on the floor. He ran as fast as he could in a panicked state. He reached her as she tried to recover from the concussion.

"Watteau? Are you alright? Say something." he called. Watteau rubbed her head roughly while she got up.

" _O-oui, mon ami._ " she assured."But I am, as you say, dumbfounded by ze Grey Dove's intolerance for certain women."

"Why I oughta...," sneered Bastings angrily.

"No fear, Bastings. We will get him next time. I, Virgule Watteau, will make sure zhat zhat fiend gets behind bars soon enough." They watched as the moon began to rise from the sea before walking away back to their station. What crazy adventures will they have next? Only time will tell.

"To be continued." Fern finished her tale as she closed her storybook.

"That was excellent." complimented George. "No it wasn't." he spoke again through Wally. It was awesome! Five stars. More! More!"

They looked outside and saw that the rains have stopped. Additionally, it was also getting dusky.

"Did we write that long?" wondered George. "Oh well. Time flies and dang I missed it." 'said' Wally.

"Well, I better get going." said Fern. "Mom should be making dinner by now." The two walked down towards the front door. George opened it and both walked out. "Thanks for the company." thanked Fern. George let out a big smile on his face.

"Hey. What are friends for?" "They make ya spin and spin with their nonsense jokes and pranks."

"Wally." "What?"

"Oh. and don't forget Mr. Ratburn's assignment on Currency in a few days."

"Oh no!" George smacked his head, totally shocked by the sudden recounting of his homework. "I forgot! I've haven't even touched it once! Heck, what am I going to do?" "How typical."

"Relax. It's not that hard. Besides, if you want help, I'm just a phone call away."

"You mean it?"

"Hey. What are friends for?" Fern grinned. She waved goodbye as she walked out. George returned the wave and closed the door. Fern walked on and on back home, stepping on the small puddles left behind by the rain. She looked back at George's house on the way, knowing that she had a great time writing her story with the boy.

"I guess I shouldn't regret not going to camp after all."

 **The End... For Now...**

 **Well, what do you think? Don't forget to review!**


	4. The Presidential Assignment Part 1

**Chapter 4: The Presidential Assignment Part 1**

It had been a week and Lakewood Elementary School was entering a new semester. In a hallway of lockers, the school bell was heard. And with that, kids came out almost simultaneously. A few minutes later, a few girls gathered around a notice board. One of them was Fern.

"Yes!" exclaimed the tomboy, joyfully. "I made the cut! The school's next rock competition will be mine!"

"Definitely." agreed Muffy, her best friend. "Time to get you some new clothes."

"Oh no!" protested Francine. "Remember the last time you tried to accessorize me?"

"It was the new trend, Francine."

"Well, no thanks. I'm fine as it is."

"You should enter too, Fern." suggested Sue Ellen. "I mean you did sing with the Backstreet Boys before." But Fern shook her hand at her.

"Nah. Maybe not this time."

"Why not?" asked Francine. "You're a great singer."

"But singing really isn't my thing. Writing is what I do best. Well, I better get going. See ya around."

They waved goodbye to Fern. As she walked along the corridor, she caught sight of George going through his locker. He closed the door and sighed.

"Something wrong?" Fern asked.

"Oh hey Fern." greeted George. "Binky was picking on me again for my lunch money."

Fern cringed her face with annoyance. "When will he ever stop?"

After packing up, George walked with Fern to the exit.

"I told you that you could finish that assignment." said Fern. "And you didn't even need my help."

"But I did make a miscalculation." admitted George. "It was so stressful. So what was going on at the notice board?"

"It was the auditions for the singing competition. Francine wanted to know if she made it to the singer's part and she did."

"Did you enter? Did you make it?"

"Nah. Not really my thing."

"But you're a great singer."

"I rather stay home and write a novel in the future. I can't just go around the world performing in front of thousands."

"Yeah I guess you're right. I mean, going for all those grand events with all the paparazzi. You'd be so busy that I would've not be able to see you again which will be sad and then the..." Fern stopped him, a little shocked.

"Wait what was that?" George quickly flinched at what he said.

"Uh. Um. Oh look at the time. I-I got to go. Have to do something with Wally today. See ya." Fern just paused. Then she smiled amusingly. She knew what he said and quietly said to herself.

"Oh George. That was so lame." She ran to him again. He was blushing red especially when Fern caught up with him.

"Hey, how 'bout I follow you on your way home?" asked Fern.

"Aren't you going with the girls?" asked George.

"I would, but I can always do that later. Besides, I need you to help me with my story."

"Still need me, huh?"

"Why not? You are a really great helper."

"Let's go to the Sugar Bowl. We'll start there."

* * *

At the Sugar Bowl ice-cream stop, the two were prepared for work on their story, while having a milkshake each. Fern had her notebook for her stories and her pencil for writing them.

"Now, let's start the next chapter." said Fern.

"Got an idea on how it's going to be?" asked George.

"I have a plot. Now to add some spice to it. Put on your thinking cap, George."

"I was wondering how you came up with these crimes in the story."

"Oh that. Mr. Ratburn showed me that the war had a lot of interesting stories to tell. And I just couldn't help but look them up on the Internet."

"Why not become a history buff? They come with really neat stories." Fern waved her hand and shook her head.

"Let's not go there. As interesting as the war sounds, history is a real bore for me. **(A/N~ I don't agree. If didn't like it, I would not be writing this story. Thank you :p)** At least not yet."

"Well, my thinking cap's on. Let's get writing, Agatha Shelly." At this point, Fern grabbed her pencil and book, ready to carry out the next chapter of the heroine detective. But then, she stopped halfway into opening the book.

"That was like a year ago. I'm thinking of a new pen name." she said.

"Why? Fern Walters is a good name." suggested George.

"Don't you get tired of praising me and everyone else?"

"Not really." said George, sheepishly.

"Eh. Good then. Let's begin, uh... um..." Fern then stopped, pausing to look at George curiously.

"What?" the moose boy wondered.

"Never mind. I'll think of a pen name for you next time."

"Me? A pen name?" George was taken aback by the sudden request of a penname for himself.

"Why not? You're a great help for my stories. I think it's time I included you into them. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course. Go on ahead."

And thus, the creative writer picked up her pencil, opened her notebook, and began the writing.

* * *

13th April, 1942,

Washington D.C. The capital of the US was bustling with people pushing to contribute to the war effort. But as good of the people went on, crime always found a way to take advantage. At the local Detective Bureau in Washington, our good heroine, Virgule Watteau, was waiting outside the Director's office for her next exciting mission.

"We caught the sneaky Mack Sullivan from attempting a theft at the jewellery store." Bastings was listing and checking down the numerous criminals the pair have caught in their recent cases. "Then stopped Susie Rose from stealing a number of weapons from Army Base Jackson. And lastly, foiled Lance Reginald from sending illegal funds to the black market. I'd say we will get a raise soon enough." But Watteau didn't hear him. Her mind was set on the upcoming mission. She seemed really ecstatic about it and couldn't help but tap her feet in anticipation.

"Hello, Watteau? Anyone home?" Bastings waved his hand in front of her. The daydreaming detective in charge shook her head as she snapped out of her train of thought.

"Huh? Oh, Bastings. _Excusez moi._ " She cleared her throat.

"Ah, excited. Are we now?" Bastings could only smirk at the brief embarrassment of his partner.

" _Oui._ Every mission has been. It is, 'ow you say, an adventure waiting to happen."

"Wonder what we got today?" Bastings asked with a finger to his lower lip.

"It has been a month since we saw our good friend, ze Grey Dove. He has yet to surface in zhese dark times."

"Who knows? Maybe he's doing no good right about now. Perhaps he's doing a theft at the United States Bullion Depository or something." But something that huge made Watteau scoff in humour.

"Him? Stealing from a well-protected area? Unlikely. But we will catch him somehow. My head has been hurting and swelling for a few days and I am willing for a payback for zhat headbutt!" Watteau threw her fist in the air, with an imaginary image of the Grey Dove projected in front of her.

"Comes to show he is a real rock head." A small chuckle was rewarded to Bastings.

"Good one." Then, at that moment, Watteau stole a look at Bastings' lap. On it, there was a thick, green book with the title, "America's Greatest Landmarks", engraved in gold letters on the cover.

"What do you have zhere?" Watteau curiously asked.

"Oh this?" Bastings took hold of the book and showed it to Watteau. "This is an interesting book about American landmarks. The Yanks really know what to come up with these days." As he finished explaining, he opened the book and flipped through a set of pages, stopping to a page where an image of a tall tower standing over a grassy field. "I've finished reading about the Washington Monument yesterday. Did you know it was completed in 1884 after a long hiatus in...?"

As they continued to chat through about the Monument and such, a woman dressed in formal attire exited the Director's Office.

"Miss Watteau." She formally called. "The Director would like to see you now." From there, a smile was visible on Watteau's face, showing her eagerness in solving whatever crime or antic someone was pulling off. But could this be another normal crime, or would, as chances would be, be a very special case? Either way, Watteau took the call to the Director's office with full enthusiasm.

"Wait here, Bastings." She told her partner. Bastings nodded in compliance. She stood up, grabbed her cane and adjusted her bowler hat, and walked into the room.

The room inside had a very elegant-looking interior, with brown and golden wooden walls and a green carpeted floor. There sat the Director. He was wearing a light brown trench coat and a darker brown hat. He wore a pair of glasses and was reading some sort of book about a heroic bunny. **(A/N~ In other words, he is played by Arthur)** He stopped on what he was doing.

"Welcome Miss Virgule Watteau. Please sit down." he greeted to Watteau, gesturing to her to sit at the wooden chair in front of the desk. Watteau did so, waiting to hear what next episode in her job had in store for her. Could it be a plot to slow the war effort? Could this be a plan of arson? Or would it be just another theft?

"And how are we doing today, _Monsieur_ Director?" Watteau asked, crossing her arms.

"Very good. I have another special assignment for you. And it's from someone very important to this nation."

In an instant, Watteau was excited after hearing that. What could be so important? Was Watteau the one who can solve this case?

"Who?" asked Watteau again, spirits as high as ever.

The Director held a recorder in hand and place it on his table. He pressed the play button. The tapes rolled and when it was being played, a very familiar voice can be heard.

"Greetings, Miss Virgule Watteau of the French Board of Detectives. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the President of the United States of America, Franklin Delano Roosevelt."

Wow, she thought. Of all the people out there who needed her, it was the President of the USA who asked for her assistance? It was an exhilarating moment for Watteau. Her excitement was starting to get the best of her, but she regained her focus and listened to what the President had to say.

"I am informed by my officials that you have been crippling crime efforts around the country. Well, let me say that you have been a real fine help on stopping crooks from taking advantage of the war we are trying to fight so hard in. And we thank you for that. Now, we could use some well-prepared and conscious people like you in more important missions. Like the one I'm about to give you. You see, our best intelligence has come to a theory that I may be watched. For what purpose is unknown until we find those who are claimed for doing such a potentially dangerous thing. I fear an assassination, but it could be something worse. And if you ask us what we could have that's worth the act, forget about it. Anyway, we have assigned another detective to search for clues but we thought we could use some extra hands. So go to a nearby warehouse where you'll find the detective who is awaiting your presence now. The warehouse was closed after an explosion due to an accident but witnesses have seen people sneaking in and they don't look like anyone who has any permission to enter. Do consider taking this task. The entire nation, the war and my own life could depend on your assistance. Thank you, Miss Watteau.

We may be from different countries, but let us remember that we are all Allies against a common foe. Let us do our parts to winning this war."

The recording ended.

"Well, Miss Watteau?" Watteau stood up from her seat and removed her hat. She looked at the Director with sheer commitment to the special task at hand. Her dedication fuelled by the chance to prove herself to a higher authority that she, a common detective, can contribute to the war.

"It will be an 'onour to help ze President in zis case." declared Watteau, showing her confidence to carry out the mission, and much to the Director's approval.

"The aforementioned detective will be meeting you there. Good luck." With the orders given and the job now in Watteau and Bastings' hands, the eager detective bowed to the Director and left the room with spirits so high, she could jump for joy. Once the detective left the room, Director Randall resumed to his usual business; taking out a special issue of "Bionic Bunny chases the Desert Fox."

* * *

After 30 minutes, the dynamic duo went to the scene of the crime. The night was young and the city of Washington was as busy as ever. And so was Watteau, who was looking real ecstatic. She could feel the adrenaline rushing through her body as the special mission she was assigned to, swam in her mind. Oh how thrilled was she to be in the service of the President of the United States himself.

She walked across the streets, while facing all directions, as if she was surveying the area. She was almost like the very moment they left the Bureau, much to Bastings' discomfort.

"Ah! We must be vigilant, Bastings." she joyfully declared, viewing practically everywhere with her magnifying glass for no apparent reason, as Bastings thought. "Ze criminal could be around here somewhere." Then she headed on over to one of the buildings. She sniffed out.

"Hmmmm. Eeenteresting. Something it smells of ze fish. Rotten stench of raw fish." Elsewhere, she picked up the scent and followed it to an abandoned building where scratched and cracked walls covered it. "Bastings, what could zis mean?"

"Uh…" He then pointed up above them. "An abandoned fish market?

"Hmmmm. Maybe. Let's go look some more." At this point, Bastings was getting tired of her over-expressive attitude.

"Look Watteau." he cleared his throat. "I know you're excited and all, but you gotta calm yourself down. This job may be big, but show some patience, will you?"

" _Au contraire,_ my dear Bastings." Watteau responded. "I have ze magnifying glass. **I** decide how this operation is done."

They arrived at the scene. An old warehouse where prized ammunition was being stored and ready to be shipped to Australia for soldiers to fight the Japanese in the Pacific. But the building has not been open for days after an accident involving a munitions explosion. Luckily, no one was hurt. And intelligence dictated that a few people have been seen entering the building without any approval. Thus, it was worth the start for investigation.

"Zis is ze place." Watteau pointed out.

"So let's get in before we get into any trouble." added Bastings. "I fear some mysterious troublemakers are still lurking in these dark corners."

Just as they were about to get in the warehouse...

"Well, well, well. Look who ze cat dragged in..." They were alarmed by a female French voice heard in the distance. As Watteau looked to where it came from, she gave a glare at the person who uttered those words. The words spoken were rather peculiar. They actually sounded like Watteau's words, albeit being calmer and less rough, with a pinch of cold humour in her voice.

"You spoke too soon, Bastings." Watteau sneered. "Trouble has already come."

She walked towards the shadowy figure, with the shadowy silhouette slowing revealing herself.

"We meet again, Annabelle Fatteauil."

It was Annabelle Fatteauil, Watteau's rival in detective skills and crime investigation. She wore almost the same clothes as Watteau, except with a black skirt and a bowler hat. She walked towards Watteau.

 **(A/N~ Fatteauil is another one Fern's imaginary characters in the show. But the relationship between her and Watteau as cousins is my idea. And she is also played by Fern).**

"I didn't expect you would be here, my dear cousin." she spoke with a proud and soft voice, which didn't amuse Watteau. It was a rare occasion for Bastings. H, in fact, did work for Fatteauil for a short while before joining back with Watteau, and he began to notice the clear differences between the two's manners.

"Well, aren't you a sight of ze sore eye." Watteau ranted.

"Relax, Watteau." Fatteauil raised her hand to Watteau. "Everyzing is under control."

"Hah! Is zhat so? Jell, just so you know, I have orders from ze President of ze United States of America himself. So why don't you just pack up and leave zis to ze professionals?"

"*chuckles* If zis task calls for professionals, zhen I am just ze person for ze job. And unfortunately for you, I have also got orders from ze same man. So I'm staying right here."

Watteau could not believe her ears. Her long-time rival also got the call from the President? Things weren't looking well for Watteau. She had always thought that Fatteauil was better than her, but she always went all out to outwit Fatteauil in a case. Most of her attempts did not go so well.

"You? Ze President called you too? Hah! Don't make me laugh." Watteau laughed in a mockingly matter.

"Well, if you're done bickering, we can start our investigation." Undeterred by Watteau's antics, Fatteauil walked towards the warehouse, passing Watteau and Bastings, without even a care.

"And how are you, Bastings?" she motioned to Bastings.

"Uh, fine. Thank you kindly." Bastings awkwardly bowed in return as the cool and calculative detective walked right in the structure. Irritated, Watteau grabbed Bastings by the arm and stormed in. "Whoa!"

* * *

Deep inside the abandoned building, they walked on, where conveyor belts and other machines were seen left dusty and broken from the blowout from the accident. Bastings freed himself from Watteau's grip, snatching him from her own clutches.

"What is wrong with you?" he firmly asked. Watteau, still irritated, could not hold her pressure as she stomped here and there.

"Ugh. Bastings. You do know zat she could ruin zhis task for us." she complained.

"I doubt it. She's as great a detective as you are." Bastings tried to show Watteau reason, but all he got was a glare from her. "O-Okay." he gulped. "Maybe a little less." But Watteau cooled down, not wanting to lose her entire focus on the mission at hand.

"I know you've been working closely with her in London while I was working alone in Paris, but I want to get on top of her for a change." confessed Watteau. Bastings, however, was still not convinced.

"Come on, Watteau. When will you ever cease this childish game?" said Bastings, but just when the argument was about to heat up, Fatteauil came with a slow but stern face.

"Is zere something wrong?" she asked.

"Nozing." Watteau rushed to answer. "We were just starting our search."

"No we weren't." whispered Bastings, scornfully, earning a poke on the thigh by Watteau's cane. "Ow!"

"Ugh! Let's go before we all lose our senses."

Putting aside her rivalry for now, Watteau and Bastings travelled into the warehouse. On every single shelf, there's always boxes of munitions and weapons stored. Big bullets for knocking out tanks or planes, while the little ones for the infantry. There were also some huge blast marks filled with soot and expired powder, indicating the scale of the damage done in the blast. Regardless, everyone was on high alert, hoping to not cause any more destruction with a single mishap.

"Blimey. There's enough rounds here to blow the entire building." cleared Bastings.

"Let alone blow up zhis entire neighbourhood." Watteau added.

Watteau scanned the area with her magnifying glass, searching and searching for any trace left behind by any suspect. Fatteauil on the other hand was just looking up and down, walking her cane in hand. She held her chin and thought.

"Concentrate, Fatteauil. Concentrate." she told to herself. "Where will be ze most suspicious part of zhese American warehouses?"

Their frantic search went on for half an hour, but nothing turned up other than the scale of the damage caused. However, just then, as Watteau was walking along a conveyor belt, she spotted some peculiar on the belt. She bent forward and picked it up.

"Aha! Eureka!" she yelled in excitement.

"What? What did you find?" asked Bastings. Watteau showed it to Bastings. It appeared to be a torn piece of postcard. On it was the number '84'.

"Hmmmm..." But she was not the only one with a lead. "Ha! I found somezing!" Suddenly, the scene was rocked by another equally cheerful cry from Fatteauil.

"Really? What is it?" Bastings rushed to find Fatteauil, leaving Watteau to grumble again.

"Drats."

The two ran to Fatteauil. She was at the exit. As they arrived, Fatteauil pointed on the dirty floor.

"Zere are tracks leading to ze exit." she brilliantly pointed out, but much to the other two's confusion. Watteau, however, was not having it.

"Big deal. Zis is supposed to be ze drop off point."

Fatteauil took a pinch of the rolled-over dirt. She actually checked the contents of the dirt with a magnifying glass.

"Don't you need a microscope for that?" asked Bastings.

"Ahh, but zis is no ordinary magnifying glass, _monsieur_. With special modifications to ze lens, I can identify ze smallest of findings." Indeed, the magnifying glass looked very weird. It had a very thick frame and a red button at its hilt. Pressing the button, the frame extended outwards into a cone shape until the tip was a tiny piece of lens.

"Great. She's ahead of me in finding zings AND in technology? _Ridicule…_ " complained Watteau.

Fatteauil looked into the piece with her new tool. Through her eye, she could see the fine bits of dirt particles within that one piece.

"Hmmm, ze dirt is fresh and warm. It means ze vehicle has left not long ago." she deduced.

"But it could be a vehicle that could've been sending some supplies or somezing." Watteau added.

"You're forgetting ze fact zat ze place has been closed for investigation. According to ze Bureau, no one has begun anyzing here until we came."

"Eeenteresting..."

But then, suddenly, out of nowhere…

"Ow!" Watteau felt a strong and nasty pain behind her head. She fell to the ground. Bastings went to help her as Fatteauil looked up to where the can was tossed from. And there she saw it! A shadowy silhouette above the support beams of the roof. It ran off with great balance across the beam.

"Halt! In ze name of ze law!" Fatteauil called out strictly. Watteau recovered from her fall, rubbing on where she was hit.

" _Sacre bleau._ What hit me?"

"We best hurry." said Bastings. "The fiend is getting away. Fatteauil is in pursuit."

"Ah!" cried out Watteau. "Stealing all ze glory, eh? Well you're not going to get ze win zis time!" She ran off to catch up with her competition. Bastings just shrugged and sighed.

"This outta be fun. I can hardly wait for whatever those two have in store for themselves."

* * *

Watteau ran as fast as she could. Sprinting through the warehouse like a cheetah, she could not let her cousin take all the credit. She has spent her whole time in America fighting crime. She couldn't let her rival take it all away. She ran outside the front entrance. Bastings was able to catch up. Then they took a turn for the side of the building. And there the saw a dark figure and it appeared to be facing its back at them.

"Ah! Nowhere left to run!" Watteau smirked. Finally, she ran right at the person.

"No, wait!" Bastings tried to stop her, but it was too late. Thinking it belonged to the crook, Watteau pounced on the figure, both falling to the floor. Watteau tried to apprehend the being by putting it in an arm lock, trapping it down. The shadowy figure tried to wrestle its way out, but to no avail.

"Alright, you fiend. Time to get you arrested!" Watteau triumphantly gloated. However…

…what she didn't realize was... That she was not arresting the crook.

"Watteau! Get off! _Sacre bleau_!" Watteau looked at the figure's face and it revealed a very angry, very cross...

Fatteauil!

Alarmed, Watteau then looked towards the alley and saw another shadowed figure running off. It left their sight. The pursuit had failed.

"Great." Fatteauil crossly uttered. "Now ze suspect is gone. You happy? Now get off!" As Fatteauil got up, she dusted her off the dirt. Boy, was she mad. Even Watteau has not seen her this mad. "Well Watteau, you better apologize for zhis mess."

" _Moi_? Why _moi_?" Unfortunately, Watteau was just as mad.

"As you could have clearly seen, I had ze suspect right where I wanted him. And you so happened to be in ze way."

"You could have just caught him with your bare hands! Zat is how you catch a criminal! I swear you always find ze more civil approach."

" _Excusez moi_. But your ways are razher, how you say, barbaric."

"Well in case you have not noticed, zis country IS at war. Things have been barbaric! And so must my tactics!"

As the two feud over the situation, Bastings was watching the argument unfold, rather dumbfounded by the two's rivalry.

"I can never understand those two."

But when he looked on the floor not far from the girls, he walked over to where he saw something. It was a small piece of paper near the set of footprints left behind from the chase. He picked it up, trying to read it. However, it was a bad idea to read it with all the racket going on. The argument was just too much for Bastings to handle.

"Will you both knock it off?!" At the top of his voice, the quarrelling cousins stopped their unnecessary argument. "Very good." he huffed before returning to his investigation. "Now let me read this. I saw this drop off when the suspect made a run for it. Hmmmm... Yes... How peculiar." He walked towards his partners.

"Well?" It was a simultaneous call from both detectives, earning a look at each other before turning away sharply. "Hmph!"

"Well, it says here in this note."

* * *

 _We got some pretty useful info about the President. Get to the warehouse for some supplies. And meet us at WM, at 9:30 sharp._

 _-JA_

* * *

"JA?" Watteau thought.

"And where is zis WM?" added Fatteauil.

"Let's put our heads together for a bit."

And thus, the thinking game began. Three great minds coming up with one definitive answer. While Watteau and Fatteauil were further investigating and thinking, Bastings was holding the note and went to work in the thinking as well. He read it carefully and thought rather hardly. He then remembered the torn piece of postcard that Watteau found and thought of the number '84' on it. Suddenly, as if he was hit on the head, he remembered a conversation he had with Watteau outside the Director's office.

* * *

~ _Did you know the Washington Monument was built in..._ ~

* * *

"1884!" His two partners quickly ran to him.

"What is it, Bastings?" asked Watteau.

"I know where the suspects could be. Watteau, hand me the piece of paper you gave me earlier." Everyone was definitely interested in what Bastings had to say. Watteau did as was told and handed the piece of paper to Bastings.

"As I had suspected, this number seems to be signified as '1884' because of the incomplete number text. And 1884 so happens to be..."

"Ze year zat ze Washington Monument was completed. Bastings, you are a genius!" Watteau cried out cheerfully.

"Well is zat so? Then we must head for ze Monument." Fatteauil declared.

"For once, I concur." agreed Watteau. And off they went! The case has been solved. Now for the hunt.

"Impressive work, Bastings." Fatteauil approached Bastings. "You have bested me in zis case."

"Ahem." Watteau cleared her throat. "What about _moi_?"

"What about you?" A sly answer of sarcasm was enough to put Watteau down.

"Never mind."

* * *

After an hour taking a cab to the Monument, the hasty trio rushed to the Monument courtyard. They entered a huge crowd of passing citizens walking here and there. Most were probably spectating the beauty and symbolism the Washington Monument had to offer. But unknown to them, a mischievous criminal, or a group of them, was about to hatch up a plan. What do these guys want with from the President of the United States and why? Such curious questions for Watteau. But with a huge crowd of innocent civilians all over the place, finding the suspects was easier said than done. Still our brave detective and her comrades were determined to put a stop to the scheme.

"Spread out. We will cover more ground zat way" ordered Fatteauil. The group divided into three and split up to find the suspects. They checked among people in the open grassy fields, by the man-made lake and even outside the boundary separating the Monument from the public. But so far, not a single lead was found. They rendezvous back to where they began their hunt.

"Anyzing?" asked Watteau.

"No. Nozing." Unfortunately, Fatteauil didn't find any clues or leads.

"Nothing at my end either." added Bastings. Watteau could only kick the grassy field in frustration.

"We've been searching for an hour. Let us zink of a plan. Perhaps the Monument itself?" suggested Watteau.

"Wait. I almost forgot." Fatteauil spoke up. "We have ze permission from ze President himself to pursue wherever we wish for the sake of busting ze crime."

Using this opportunity, they approached one of the guards who was on guard, watching out for trespassers. They all showed him their detective's pass and the guard agreed to let them in and thus they went in. At the front of the Monument, all seemed quiet, except for the soft sounds of chatter by the citizens from afar. It did not look like anything had happened at this point. They began searching around the tall structure, only to find nothing in the next ten minutes

"If I were a group of fiends cooking up a scheme in a national symbol, where would I be hiding?" Watteau wondered.

Meanwhile, Fatteauil walked to search behind the monument. She headed for the corner of the base of the structure and what she saw at the other end gave her quite a surprise. She ran to the others to report her findings.

"Come with me. I have found somezing."

" _Sacre bleau_. How does she do it?" uttered Watteau. She and Bastings followed Fatteauil to her findings. After the corner, they walked towards empty ground. She tapped her cane on the ground, looking for something. What was she looking for?

"What are you? Blind?" With every tap, the very faint sounds of common rustling rock were heard. Then, with a few more taps, a sudden knock sound was heard, as if she knocked some wood. After tapping the same spot some more…

"Bingo. Come, Watteau. Tap here." Watteau walked over, still unsure of Fatteauil's findings. She did as was told and tapped the same peculiar spot. She was surprised about the unusual sounds of the knocking, instead of tapping. Watteau looked closer and her surprise grew when she saw a bit of wood surface under the grass. The two then lifted the seemingly fake grass patch. They managed to reveal an underground entrance!

"Aha! A secret hideout. I found it!"

" **YOU** found it?" Fatteauil could not believe her eyes at Watteau's foolishness.

" _Oui._ I saw ze wooden material that gave its location away."

"But I found it with sound. AND I saw ze crook open it up." defended Fatteauil.

"I knew ze clue that led us to here."

To Bastings, which was more important, he thought. The suspects or this pointless argument? Bastings couldn't care less about what those two think, but he knew Option #1 was the right choice of said question.

"Oh, come on!" Bastings stormed right past them and into the passageway. "I'm not going to stand around listening to this debacle. Let's just get this over with."

He walked off into the hideout, leaving the other two detectives to shrug their shoulders before they walked with him. The journey was dark and spooky, not to mention wet from yesterday's downpour, leaving drops of water. But as they walked along, they came across wall lanterns and scaffoldings supporting the passage.

"Eck. It's like a mine down here." said Bastings.

"You're telling me. It stinks down here." agreed Watteau as she pinched her nose. Then, half way into the tunnel, Fatteauil heard a very faint sound that resembled something like chatter.

"Sshh. I hear somezing." They sneaked forward and made their way to a wider part of the cave. As they moved on, the chatter became louder and louder. At one point, they could hear actual words like "trouble" and "information". They hid behind the corner leading to a lit area. Around that corner, they could actually hear a conversation happening between a few men. They peeked to see three men. One of them, however, had his appearance unseen in the shadows. The other two were dressed in normal everyday clothes, gathered around a table with a map and a dangling ceiling light on top of them. Watteau listened in.

"You fool!" One of the men shouted. "How can you attack them? All for we know, they could've followed you!"

"I didn't have a choice." The other man panicked. "I couldn't get the goods on time. So I had to distract them. When they hit the road that was when I decided to take them."

"Which is more important? The supplies or our cover?"

"Well I don't see you coming up with any ideas!"

"Enough!" Just then, the argument was interrupted by a sudden call from the third man in the shadows. "Look, gentlemen, zis is not good for us at all. Not only did we not retrieve ze supplies, but you may have allowed ze authorities enough time to find us. You have costed us dearly!" As the conversation went on, Watteau and company knew that one of the men was a Frenchmen from his accent.

"Well you try outrunning some of Europe's finest detectives. I'm pretty sure you won't be able to get even 1 kilometre from that warehouse."

" _Oui._ Virgule Watteau and Annabelle Fatteauil. Both of zem combined is like dealing with a bomber squadron on your head."

Unfortunately, Bastings was a little uncomfortable with that statement.

"What about me?" he whispered, but it was almost a little too loud,e nough for Watteau to shush him up.

"Sssshhh!" They continued to listen on for more information on the scheme at hand.

"Once we get what ze President wants, we will be rich beyond our wildest dreams!"

Watteau, Bastings and Fatteauil gathered around behind the corner to formulate a plan. But then, as Watteau was about to give out her plans, she could feel a little tug beneath her feet. Afterwards, they felt like they had been pulled up into the air and then caught in a tight grip of a giant hand. Soon they realized, they were stuck in a net. It was a trap! The mysterious men stood up and walked towards the trapped detectives.

"And we don't have to worry about Europe's finest detectives any longer."

They struggled to adjust themselves in the net. As the man approached them, his appearance became more and more visible. He was neatly dressed in a tuxedo and was wearing a piece of lens at his right eye. He looked like a French aristocrat, especially with the French moustache.

"So, you zink you could sneak right in and snag us when ze opportunity presented itself, _oui_?" the elegant crook spoke.

"So I assume you are ze JA from ze letter." groaned Watteau as she wriggled in the net.

"Well I wonder where you got zat letter." The man shot a short glare at one of his accomplices, who bowed his head down in shame.

"Now zat we know zat you are spying on ze President, what are your true intentions?" asked Fatteauil, earning a knowing smirk from the man.

"Ah. Glad you asked. Mmhmm." He walked towards the trapped detectives, ready to reveal the full details of his notoriety and criminal intentions. "My name is Jacque Anton. And here is my story."

* * *

"Here you go, fellas."

The shop's owner, Carl Manino, appeared with a large tub of a banana split ice-cream with a scoop of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry each, sprinkles and a cherry on top. Fern looked on, curiously.

"Hang on, I didn't order this." she said.

"But this young man did." Mr. Manino pointed at the boy opposite her. George grabbed a spoon, ready to devour the scrumptious treat in front of him.

"Thanks, Mr. Manino."

As Mr. Manino left, George prepared to dig in, while Fern could only stare in bafflement.

"Gee. A milkshake and now this?" George shrugged.

"Yeah, couldn't help myself. You're free to join in if you'd like." He grabbed another spoon nearby and lent it to Fern. While she did have a milkshake as well, she too couldn't resist the temptation of dessert. She took the spoon and winked at bastings thankfully.

"Now that's "sweet" of you."

As they helped themselves out with their treat, Fern was still up for thoughts to finish the cliff-hanger. Who is this Jacque Anton? And what would he want from the government? Another exciting chapter awaits!

 **Well I wanted to finish this case in one whole chapter, but I could save time by splitting it in two. Enjoy!**


	5. The Presidential Assignment Part 2

**Chapter 5: The Presidential Assignment Part 2**

 **Boy, after a long time writing two fics at the same time, I finally managed to get another chapter improved upon and ready! Sorry for the late update. I am at my busiest in college now and I barely have time writing fics. But fear not, I plan on rewriting the old chapters, and eventually I will get back on making new ones to build up on the story.**

 **Anyways, here you go!**

* * *

At the Sugar Bowl, the two children have finished off their delightful dessert. The mixture of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry flavours had done their part in satisfying the two's appetites. With all of that done, they went on to resume the story of Watteau's special mission.

"Ahhh. Something to cool down my stomach after a late lunch." praised Fern as she tapped her full stomach." Well my brain's re-energized. Wanna get going with the story? George?" But as she looked at the boy, she could see his face filled with a cringing sick look. She knew George wasn't feeling so good, as he was holding his tummy with pain etched on his face.

"I think I have to... Gotta go!" Finally, unable to hold it in, he rushed to the bathroom to let it all out. Fern could only shake her head in disbelief.

"Hmm. Told him to slow down." she uttered. "Oh well. I think I'll go ahead first." She picked up her pencil and opened her notebook. It's not like she really needed George anyway. She could still pull it off alone as she always had. "Now where have I left off from?"

And thus, the writing continued.

* * *

Last we met our heroes, they have uncovered a secret hideout underneath the Washington Monument. The crooks plotted to obtain something crucial to the President of the United States. But as they were about to reel the criminals in, the team got tied up into a trap! They soon came face-to-face with the head honcho of the operation himself.

The mysterious man slowly approached the trapped detectives, smirking as he enjoyed the sight of them squirming fruitlessly to break away.

"So, you zink you could sneak right in and snag us when ze opportunity presented itself, _oui_?" he spoke.

"So I assume you are ze 'JA' from ze letter." Watteau inquisitively asked as she groaned from the discomfort of being cramped in a hanging net with her partners.

"Well I wonder **where** you got **zat** letter?" He rhetorically asked before he shot a short glare at one of his accomplices, the same douchebag who made that little slip-up.

"Now zat we know zat you are spying on ze President, what are your true intentions?" asked Fatteauil. The man gave them a mischievous grin before

"Glad you asked. Mmhmm. My name is Jacque Anton. And here is my story."

* * *

 _Jacque Anton von Berlitz._ Oui. _It is a name of both French and German. Zat is because my mozher as a devoted French woman while my fazher was a proud and patriotic German. Ah how zey met was somezing straight out of a Shakespeare story. My fazher had many ways to charm a woman, and zat was how he and my mozher got together after a ballroom dance in Paris. Zey led a happy life in Paris where I was born. But ze happiness was not to last. At ze age of seven, I went to kindergarten but already was my reputation shattered by ze incompetence of bullies. Zhey never approved of my appearance and constantly beat me up. I did not recover from ze beatings even until elementary school. But my grades were top-notch and I managed to get new friends. But ze pain only returned, worse zhan ever. Remember ze Great War decades ago? We moved to Berlin a month before Germany declared war on her enemies. And my fazher answered ze call to arms. You can imagine how sad it must be to see your beloved family member leaving his family behind to serve ze nation. But he was only sent to a senseless death. He died in ze trenches along with millions of ze Fatherland's fighting men. I wept for days, months probably. I never thought my fazher would just leave us to ruin and depression. We were all devastated by ze loss of our finest man. He should have never gone to war and died._

"Zhen why not take your revenge on ze Germans?"

"Uh, Watteau. Not really helping with the reassurance." Bastings hastily reminded.

 _I did not blame Germany. My fazher taught me zat Germany was a place of pride and power. Zat she was a world power! But when she lost ze war, zat glory all faded away like an avalanche. But I never lost faith in Germany. I wanted to help her regain her glory. We endured ze harsh conditions of ze Depression. But unfortunately, my mozher could not. She passed on from an illness we could not afford to cure. And zat was zat. I had no parents to raise me. How heartbreaking it was to lose both of the people you loved. My siblings and I continued to suffer under ze poverty. We could only live on trash and leftovers, but even zat was not enough. My brothers all went mad and left me to rot in ze streets. I was my own family now. No one to take care of me, not even a friend. Ze horrid past of bullying came back when bigger kids threatened me to leave or else. Life was not in favour of me. But zat all changed._

 _When I zought I could survive any longer, hope came to me. A man in a brown trenchcoat, black fedora and a cane saw me one night, digging in ze garbage. He reached for me and said,_

 _"Young man, aren't you tired of digging in ze garbage when you can have so much more?"_

 _He asked me to follow him, but I was reluctant. However, with no one to guide me through ze world, what choice did I have? When I followed him, he showed me a closed jewelry store. And do you know what he asked me to do?_

"Let me guess. Steal?" Fatteauil made a straightforward assumption.

"Oh no." Anton sarcastically spoke. "He says everyzing was for free. Zat I could take whatever I want and then… Of course I stole!" Then, he stopped joking and snapped at the two with the obvious answer.

"Oh, what a surprise."

 _When I broke into that store, I felt a sudden pang of desire and ambition, driving me to plunder more. I could get whatever I want, wherever I want. But I remained to ze belief zat Germany can still prosper. And zat all came to be. I witnessed ze rise of Hitler and ze Nazis and saw zis as an opportunity to regain her former glory. When zey began attacking Europe two years ago, I took my criminality to a whole new level. I decided to form a guild of thieves loyal to Germany. I had many of France's most notorious thieves come togezer to steal from people around France before ze inevitable arrival of our masters. Food, riches, even war supplies. We stole as much as we could. After zey stormed into Paris, we ceased our activities for a while. We made ourselves noticed. Zey applauded in our efforts and zey gave us more money zhan we ever imagined! And you what else? Zey want us to do more, so ze Vichy government assigned me to do my work somewhere where a potential enemy. America._

 _To us, she was a sleeping giant that once awakened, could bring Germany to tumble. I took ze job without hesitation. Zis was a task fit for a man like me. A man willing to serve his nation. A man who would also prosper in zhese times of need. A man who will become a hero!_

And that was that. The tragic story of a criminal mastermind, who was as loyal to the Nazis as the _Wehrmacht_.

Watteau deeply thought to the story. She paid full attention to the tale of how Anton rose to notoriety and became a force to be reckoned. With such a painful past, she could not help but understand the poor man, as anyone would relate to such a time. It even made her feel even more troubled. She felt some sort of mutual agreement about losing your own family, although she had not received any official news of her parents' conditions. Nevertheless, she knew Anton's pain.

However, the one thing she could not accept was **how** Anton was going through the times. Resorting to stealing, joining a major evil, and now, conspiring against the United States. She apparently had nothing to argue about it. Anton was still a crook in her eyes. He needed to be stopped.

"But zhere is still a problem I need to deal with." Anton then spoke.

"And what is zat?" Fatteauil asked.

"Back in my days in France, there are two very troubling people who always get in ze way of my men's efforts. You, Annabelle Fatteauil and Virgule Watteau!"

"Oh come on! Can't I at least have some recognition?" Bastings annoyingly spat. But then, the conversation was soon interrupted by one of the underlings behind Anton.

"Uh sir. I hate to interrupt this whole reminiscent moment and all, but we gotta go before the President's shipment arrives." he announced.

"Ah _oui._ "

"What shipment?" questioned Watteau, but Anton could only shake his pointer finger sideways, as if to restrict her of further details.

"Oh, I'm afraid I can't let you in for zat." said Anton. "In fact, you won't live long enough to hear about it." He let out a small chuckle of satisfaction, which caused Bastings to gulp down in fear.

"Why does it sound like we're going to be in some sort of death trap?" wondered Bastings.

"Hehehe. I'm so glad you asked. Malcom!"

Turning around, Anton signalled his henchman to pull up a switch on the wall. And below our heroes was what resulted from it. Two wooden doors opened to reveal a small pool of water...

...with electric eels swimming in it!

" _Sacre bleau_!" gasped Watteau.

"Oh no!" added Bastings.

"Zis is not good." sighed Fatteauil.

As their fears mounted, the net they were trapped in soon slowly descended gradually down to the pool, as well as their certain doom.

"Fresh out of ze Amazon. A potent killing machine with enough electricity to kill a crocodile! I wonder what would happen if zhree annoying detectives were to fall into a school of eels. But unfortunately, I must make my move. Now I will leave you to have a real shocking experience. Let's go, boys." Just as he walked away from the doomed detectives, he let out an evil laugh, leaving the fate of three detectives at the hands of the eels below them.

The bad guys walked out, gloating away as Watteau and her partners began to sink more and more. They needed a way out, but what could they do? Cut the rope off and they will fall into the pool. They could always try reaching the switch, but even their canes weren't long enough. What were they to do?

* * *

"What were they to do? What were they do? What were they... DARGH!" Fern let out a cry of frustration, grabbing her hair as she laid her head on the table. "What am **I** to do? What goes next?"

She held her head back and rested it on the chair behind her. As she tried to apprehend her writing block problems, she soon saw George returning from the restroom. The look on his face, completely calm after being soothed from his inner pains.

"I'm back." he cheered, back to his usual self.

"Took you long enough. You feeling okay?" Fern asked.

"I'll live." replied George as he rubbed his tummy. "So what did I miss?" But Fern was not in any better situation right about now.

"Not much. Except for the bad guy's back story and our heroes about to face a, well, unpleasant experience."

"Aww."

"But I'm kinda facing writer's block right now. I can't think of a way to continue." Fern dropped her pencil and rubbed her temples to relieve her stress.

George took her notebook, lending a hand. He read what she had written so far during his trip to the restroom very closely for he had dyslexia and could not read properly. Thinking hard, he thought of every possible way to get the story going. Then, a smile was on his face.

"I think I might have something. Listen closely."

"Alright."

Interested on how George might be able to help out with the story, Fern leaned forward and listened in to George, but he then began to feel hesitant.

"Uh, on second thought, my idea may not meet your standards so why not you..." However, he was silenced when Fern let out a giggle.

"George. I don't really mind. Just try it out. And I can trust you and only you with my stories. So whatever you have in mind, do tell. I'll be the judge of it." With Fern's acceptance, George felt more comfortable.

"Gee. I didn't think you trust me that much. Alright, let me put some thought into it." He took his turn to take the pencil and the story was under his control.

"Go for it." And Fern was there to lend her support. With a few scratches on his head, George spoke up. Fern wrote down whatever he told.

* * *

Then, as they were halfway to the pool, Bastings felt an uncomfortable feeling at his bottom. He struggled to reach his back pocket, but being stuck in a net with two other people can be real tricky. At once, he kicked the back of Watteau's head amid the struggle.

"Ow! Hey! Bastings!" Poor Watteau. Already in one night, she got struck at the back of her head. Not to mention the still humiliating whack in the head by the Grey Dove not too long ago. But Watteau also couldn't notice but she nudged Fatteauil's right shoulder.

"D'oh! Will you both knock it off?"

"Well, _excusez moi._ " This was definitely getting them nowehere. A nasty villain was about to snatch away an important Allied secret, and here they were, bashing each other in a tight space while sinking to an impending doom. As the two women continued to struggle in the net. Bastings could not get a hold of his back pocket with all that hustle.

"The more you two struggle, the worse it's going to get. Now let me deal with my back." he urged.

"You are more worried about your back zhan zhis?" uttered Watteau.

Once he did manage to reach for his pocket, Bastings caught hold of an object out of there. It was a roll of duct tape he normally used for fixing Watteau's cane whenever she would accidentally break it upon incapacitating criminals. He was about to discard the roll, when he then looked at the pool to see how much time they had before getting in. He also took short glimpses at the two detectives' canes, which were quite different. Watteau's cane had a golden orb on one edge but Fatteauil's had nothing but a hook-shaped end to it. Finally he turned to the switch that opened the doors to the pool. Duct tape, canes and switch. All combined in his head. Thus, he struck gold!

"Bingo! Quick! Hand me your canes." Curious, they handed over their canes to Bastings, who proceeded to them together. Fatteauil's cane acted as the hook, while Watteau's was to be used as an extension of the longer cane. With that done, Bastings reached with all his strength. He tried to reach for the switch and pull it back down. The hook reached the switch.

"Got it. Now I got to... pull it... down." But with the distance between them and certain doom was inching less and less, it was getting harder and harder to pull it down. However, he didn't give up. "Almost there." The young man gave his all to pull down the switch.

"Quickly!" Watteau exclaimed. The trap was almost at the surface of the water. Bastings tried even harder to pull the switch.

"Now will be a good time!" alerted Fatteuil. By now, the net was almost inches away from the shocking doom awaiting them

"Darn the law of physics!" Finally, after a few more tugs, the switch finally moved! "Yes!"

The doors shut, and just in the nick of time too. The second the doors closed, the net trap touched the doors. Now Fatteauil used her knife to cut the trap open. After dropping down from the cut opening, they were free at last!

"You are a life saver, Bastings." praised Watteau as she adjusted her hat.

"Just doing my job." Bastings proudly stated as he walked to the exit. "Come on. We have to catch Jacque before."

"Ahem." But when he looked back, he saw that Watteau was holding the canes, still taped together, and joined by Fatteauil who was also awaiting her cane to be separated.

"Oops. Hehe." He cut loose the tape with Fatteauil's pocketknife and removed the taping. With their canes separated, the trio ran out the exit.

"Come, _mon ami_! We have no time to lose!" And off they went. Jacque Anton had to be stopped for if he got to whatever the President might have, the mission and possibly the safety of America will be in complete trouble.

* * *

"Here, how 'bout that?" Fern took the book and read his idea. George fiddled with his fingers, anticipating Fern's verdict on his work. Did he do a good job at his continuation?

"George..." Then, he became nervous. He wouldn't want to see Fern all disappointed and have her erased his ideas. But Fern just looked up at him...

...and smiled.

"It's perfect!" she cheered. George was enlightened by the sudden answer.

"It is?" he asked. Fern answered with a nod.

"Thanks for the writing. I knew I could count on you."

"Uh, no problem. How about you go on and write the rest? I'm sure you got everything settled for the ending."

"Indeed I do." With her writing block out of the way, Fern took out her pencil and wrote the rest of the story, while George awaited for the chapter to conclude.

* * *

As our heroes reached the exit, they were finally ready to embark on their quest to search for Jacque Anton before he could get his hands on the President's package. But, as they stepped out, they immediately stopped, knowing that something was wrong.

"Aren't we forgetting somezing?" pondered Watteau.

"You mean where exactly ze crooks are heading?" Fatteauil could only slap her own forehead. "We have no clues! And no clues means no Anton."

"Back to the hideout." They needed to find out where Jacque and his minions were about to conduct the theft of the President's cargo. So they went back in and headed for the same room where the planning started out.

Once there, they searched the table, the drawers by the cave walls and even under another wooden table next to the drawers. Anything that could be of use. Then, Bastings saw something above that table. A map of New York, which was full of arrows and descriptions.

"Over here! I found a map!"

They gathered up at the map. They took a look at it carefully. But they could not see through all those coloured scribbling and circles left behind by the criminals.

"Why not take it down to view?"

He tried to pull the map, when the unthinkable happened! A sudden flame ignited and the map was burning fast! Luckily, Bastings let go just in time, but the only chance to find Jacque Anton burned away with the map. They watched helplessly as the map turned into ashes.

" _Sacre bleau._ Zhere goes our evidence." Watteau sighed.

"How did zat happened?" Intrigued by the sudden occurrence, Fatteauil looked through the charred remains of the map. Once the fire is put out, she looked further on and saw that behind where the picture once was, now an empty space. In that space was some sort of trip mine. Fortunately enough, it was designed to ignite a single flame instead of exploding. A piece of string was also found, possibly attached to the map board used to trigger the mine when pulled.

"Modified a mine to burn ze evidence, not explode and kill us." deduced Watteau.

"Jacque Anton is smarter zhan we zink." added Fatteauil.

"Now, what do we do?" ranted Bastings. "He could be in any dock or seaside location in New York."

" _Oui_. We better find zhem soon, or we will risk ze President's safety."

Just then, as the investigation continued on, Watteau took a few sniffs at a certain, repulsive smell.

"Eck. Somezing smells of ze fish. Literally." Bastings and Fatteauil also picked up the smelly scent. Bastings walked towards another corner of the hideout. There was a large-sized crate, covered with a sheet of cloth over it. It looked wet and the smell got stronger and stronger every inch Bastings got closer. He grabbed the sheet and pulled it right up. And there it was!

"Yikes!" What he saw spooked him out of his comfort zone and jumped into Watteau's arms. Fatteauil walked right over to see a crate of mackerel and sardines all piled up inside.

"From ze scent of zhese fishes, they came fresh out of ze market not long ago."

Watteau dropped Bastings with a humph. She walked over to the crate and examined the crate itself. She looked through her magnifying glass and looked closer and closer, searching for a lead. Then, she found it. It was a label, indicating the title of the place where the fishes came from.

"Aha! The DC Docks! Quickly, zhere is no time to lose!"

* * *

The gang ran back out the hideout and were finding a cab to the DC Docks. They managed to catch one and told the taxi driver where to go.

"To ze DC Docks, _monsieur._ "

The cab drove off to their destination. Unfortunately, being the capital of the nation, Washington wasn't really the best place for a good traffic flow. Being stuck in a jam for more than half an hour, Watteau could only tap her fingers impatiently as the traffic jam slowly tested her patience. She looked around anxiously, wishing the automobiles around could just disappear with a snap of her finger.

"Watteau, be patient. I've never seen you zhis impatient since Aunt Marlene's family reunion zhree years ago." urged Fatteauil, reminding herself of that one time Watteau would not wait to end the boring family reunion to resume her career. She was just sitting calmly and Bastings was just reading the rest of his Washington tour guide book.

"Come on, _monsieur._ Can zhis move any faster? We got a criminal to catch here." Watteau finally spoke up, but the cab driver wasn't amused.

"Hey, come on. This is DC, Frenchmen. This ain't a race track or anything, so stay still, will 'ya?" he spoke with a Brooklyn accent.

"Uh, actually I'm English." reminded Bastings.

"Same difference."

* * *

The traffic jam went on for another half an hour. Sooner or later, they managed to arrive at the docks. They paid the fee and ran towards the area. They got permission to enter the premises and went to the pier.

"Zis must be ze place." declared Watteau.

Then, as they approached the jetty, they caught three silhouettes in the distance standing on the wooden port boards. They hid behind a pile of boxes and the silhouettes began to reveal their real identities. They were the people our heroes were looking for. Jacque Anton and his goons were inspecting a cargo loading at the docks. A small boat docked next to the platform and one of the crew placed a board for landing. Jacque walked closer to the board.

"What is he doing?" wondered Watteau, only to be shushed by her cousin.

"Quiet. Let us hear in." They all watched the scene unfold.

A man came from the deck of the boat and descended down the board. Jacque approached the man and stood in a proper matter, as opposed to his leaning-on-stick stance. Clearing his throat, he made an extraordinary feat.

"Greetings. You came right on time." He changed his accent to American! A real clever way to ease a criminal persuasive abilities. "The President was expecting this cargo to arrive sooner."

"Apologies. Those U-Boats were giving our ship a hard hitting. Fortunately enough, the Yanks had an impressive escape route." The sailor spoke in an English accent which gave the detectives the notion that he came from England.

"Indeed. Now let's hurry. I fear there might be spies around due to the weight of this mission."

"Very well. Come on, lads!" Afterwards, two other sailors came down the board; one of them carrying a small crate. They walked to their fellow sailor. He handed him the crate and showed it to Jacque.

"Ah yes." Jacque was pleased with the delivery. But now was the time… "Now if you'll excuse me."

Suddenly, he and his minions took out gas masks from their pockets. The sailors could only look on curiously. However, what they didn't realize was that Jacque had a bomb in his pocket! He took that out and tossed on the floor. The sailors gasped and tried to run for cover, but it was too late. Fortunately, however, it only released a small cloud of gas. But when the sailors sniffed it in, their eyes suddenly began to close and their bodies began to feel wobbly. Finally, they fell to the ground, unconscious. Jacque loomed over the fallen men and smirked.

" _Merci beaucop._ For ze kind gift." he spoke back to his French accent. The three baddies proceeded to take the crate, which had fallen on the ground. They were about to walk away when...

"Don't move, Anton!" The trio of the detectives jumped out of their hiding place, but not without a comedic fall by clumsy old Bastings. Watteau could only smack her head after witnessing Bastings' fall. Jacque was definitely not expecting the sudden appearance of the detectives, feeling almost certain that he had them roasted by his eels.

"How did you find us? More to ze point, how did you escape? Zhose eels would have made short work of you!" he exclaimed.

"Call it a fishy feeling." joked Watteau, hinting the loads of crates filled with fish back at the hideout.

"And for ze second question, your attempts to put us out for good is not ze least admirable. And did I mention how primitive ze traps were?" added Fatteauil. But Jacque had decided that he needed to deal with these meddling busybodies once and for all. Plus, the package was now in his hands, so he needed to make a run for it.

"Never mind. Sick 'em boys!" The two minions charged at the trio. But Watteau and Fatteauil dodged their swipes and rushed for Jacque, leaving the two goons dumbfounded. But they then turned attention to poor Bastings.

"Uh, fellows. A little hand here?" he called out to them, visibly shivering in fear from the sight of the two men larger than him.

"We are a little busy ourselves. Handle zhem." Watteau called back, resuming her rush towards her target with Fatteauil.

"Easier said than done, little man." And that left poor Bastings in the hands of the stronger men. One of them went on to crack his knuckles, giving him more chills down his spine.

"Looks like we got this in the bag." said the other man.

* * *

As Bastings was forced to endure the two crooks, Watteau and Fatteauil managed to catch up Jacque at a nearby jetty. The two had him surrounded from both sides as the criminal grabbed hold of the presidential package tightly.

"You two sure are being unfair now, eh? No matter." He wielded his cane and showed off a few staff martial arts moves. Watteau and Fatteauil were a little shaky but they knew they could muster enough courage to fight him. Fatteauil attacked by launching herself in front of Jacque and fought him with her own moves. It was truly a clash of the canes. Every time one would try and strike, the other would successfully counter the hit. And since Fatteauil was smaller, she basically jumped at some points of the duel. But after a minute of exchanging blows, Jacque got the upper hand and tripped Fatteauil with his leg. As Fatteauil fell, Watteau immediately grabbed her cane and whacked a few cans littered on the floor as if she was playing golf. But the quicker Jacque dodged as many as he could. At one point, he actually performed a spin kick and sent one can flying back at Watteau. She barely avoided another painful hit to head. She wasn't going to let another man knock her out cold on the head like that time with the Grey Dove.

"Do you see how nimble I am? Not even machine guns can catch me!" he taunted.

"You are correct." But Fatteauil was not intimidated. Then, from behind Jacque, Waeau quickly seized the opportunity and whacked him on the chest, causing him to fall hard on the floor. "Zat is what machine guns are for anyway. Zhey keep you pinned long enough for ze ally to hit you right where you want it."

Jacque recovered. Thinking quickly, he took the package and ran up to the boat with his precious cargo in hand.

"I got him!"

"No! I got him!"

The two rivals were at it again. Racing to see who gets the criminal first. The calm but resourceful Fatteauil or the tough and witty Watteau? Who will get there first?

* * *

But in the meantime, they seem to have forgotten a certain person behind. Jacque's minions were chasing down Bastings, who tried to hit the two, but they outnumbered him, forcing him to run around to find an opening. One of the men tried to swing a fist at him, but Bastings quickly jumped out of the way and it destroyed a crate instead. They ran after him again and had him cornered in front of a pile of barrels. Another punch and yet another dodge and a few more stuff destroyed. The chase went on to a group of small buildings. Bastings quickly ran behind one building to hide and catch his breath. With this little of energy, he knew he couldn't last long enough.

But as he looked around, with his pursuers moving closer, he saw something at the opposite building. It was a bottle of detergent that he could use for a slippery solution. He ran again and grabbed the bottle. He spilled as much detergent as he could. As the goons ran on the trail of soapy and slippery detergent, they suddenly felt like skidding on ice. They couldn't control themselves and finally fell hard on their backs, but the troubles weren't over. Even as their backs were against the floor, they continued to slide on until they crashed into a pile of garbage. They were knocked out cold and they pretty much stank.

Bastings had his hands on his hips, standing proudly at his achievements.

"Like killing two birds with one bar of soap. Now to arrest them and get to the girls."

* * *

As Bastings apprehended his crooks, Jacque was still trying to lose his pursuers from boat to boat. Watteau and Fatteauil were catching up quite well. While Jacque endlessly jumped from boat to boat, the two detectives ran along the pier, following him. Eventually, the criminal was on his last boat. He was surrounded as Watteau and Fatteauil closed in.

"Zis time you won't get away!"

"Let me take care of him." Fatteauil declared. However, that did not sit still for Watteau.

"What? No way, I solved ze mystery first." she defended

"Well you didn't save us from ze eels."

"Neizher did you. That does it! Here I go!"

"NO!"

Both of them jumped at Jacque at the same time, but the witty criminal managed to duck. What came next was not going to be pretty for them. The two attackers collided on each other's heads. Both landed on their bottoms and rubbed their heads. Jacque, on the other hand, jumped off from the boat he was on and went for another opposite one, with the crate in his hands. He hijacked the boat by rewiring the boat's controls and the engine started. He gave an evil smirk at his enemies.

" _Au revoir_ , my new foes. I have ze President's secrets. Now I shall return to ze Fatzherland with information zat will ensure her victory!" Jacque let out an evil laugh, leaving behind the failed detectives behind. The laughter got quieter and quieter as the victorious criminal escaped with his loot. Watteau and Fatteauil could only watch as the fiend escaped far out to sea. Fatteauil got up and dusted herself. She then faced Watteau, who was still on the floor.

"Well zat went well. _Merci beaucop_ , Watteau!" she angrily spat.

"Why blame _moi_ again?" she argued back. "It was clearly your fault!"

"I had everyzing under control until you decided to take all ze credit!"

"Me take ze credit? Oh no, _mon ami._ I believe it was you who desires a little reputation!"

As the two continued to argue over their failures, Bastings arrived at the scene. He hauled his catches of the day, who were still unconscious. He put them down against a wooden support and tried to call his partners.

"Uh guys." But they didn't budge.

"I would've caught him if you would just let me do it myself!"

"No! You were the one who could have waited for ze right moment!"

Bastings tapped his foot impatiently as the argument continued. These two were like a bickering old couple, just ranting away for what felt like hours. Then, after much frustration, he couldn't take it any longer.

"Will you two pay attention?!" Having lost his patience, he let out a powerful yell. Silence filled the air and the two reeled from the ear-shattering call.

"Good. Now tell me did we get our man?" He asked, but he was answered with a couple of sighs of defeat.

"I'm afraid not, Bastings. He got away with ze package." Bastings joined in and lowered his head, shaking it.

"We were zis close when Madame Impatience here spoilt ze moment." Watteau wanted to fight back, but after this humiliating debacle, she eventually gave in and said nothing.

"Well at least we caught these two slackers here. Now let's say we just report our failures like real detectives." Bastings suggested.

" _Oui_." After a long but unproductive day, they walked away, heads lowered. Their constant rivalry had failed them the case of the day...

...or had it?

In an instant moment, Bastings looked behind at the sea to reflect on his failure. The sun was setting, but there was enough light to shine on something else that caught his attention. He walked over to a large crate and bent over it. There, he found a smaller crate just next to it. Picking it up, he read the box title.

"Blimey!" Soon, his eyes widened in complete shock. "You chaps better get here!"

After hearing Bastings calling out to them, the two detectives ran to him. Once they looked at what Bastings had in his arms, they were astounded to find an unexpected turn of events!

"It's still here! The President's package!" There it was. For some reason, the special crate had managed to end up in the hands of the detectives! Baffled by this discovery, everyone gathered to put their minds together as to how the heck such an occurrence had miraculously happened like this.

" _Sacre bleau_ , Bastings! How is it possible?" asked Watteau. Then, Fatteauil added on with another question.

"Wait. If zis is ze package, zhen what did _Monsieur_ Jacque take?"

* * *

Out at sea, the seemingly victorious criminal continued to drive away. As the docks left his sights, he deactivated the engine. He tended to his cargo.

"Now to see what is so important about zis package?" he chuckled as he got ready to see the big deal. He opened it up, but as the crate cover was lifted open, he found the contents inside were not what he'd expected. Turned out he got a little fishy reception.

"Ew! What is zhis stench?!"

The crook got away with the crime, but he didn't get away with the right stuff. All he got from this escapade were a few fresh mackerels.

"NNNOOOOO!"

* * *

As the criminal became full of regret and sorrow, our heroes returned the real goods and whoever responsible for the theft to the authorities. Bastings continued to hold the crate while Fatteauil handed the criminals to the officers. The two crooks were shoved into a police car and it drove off with them.

Back at the detectives, the Director of the Bureau arrived. His hands were behind his back as he proudly conversed with the group.

"Well, detectives. The crooks will get a real good treatment in jail tonight. But I wish the head honcho could have been caught. He certainly had a lot of things that we would like to interrogate him for."

" _Oui_ , _Monsieur_ Director." she quietly agreed. Indeed, despite this victory, Jacque Anton would still be at large. This pro-Axis criminal would most definitely return and try his hardest to claim his revenge on the detectives. "But fear not. For now, another case solved by Virgule Watteau!"

"Ahem. But I zink you need to give _moi_ ze credit as well." Fatteauil objected. Watteau could only sigh at her cousin's arrogance.

"Like I said, you are indeed a glory hog." But just when the argument was about to begin anew, Director Randall walked over to Bastings and took the crate. After that, he shook the British man's hand, congratulating him.

"Well done, fine sir. The President sends his regards." Bastings could not believe what was going on, but he nervously returned the compliment.

"Uhhh, all in a day's work, sir."

Watteau and Fatteauil could only look on with a mixture of disappointment and confusion as Bastings was solely being congratulated by the President through the Director.

* * *

After the case was wrapped up, everyone left the scene after a few minutes. The three detectives walked back home and halfway into the city square, they stopped at a sidewalk.

"Well, I guess you can't win everyzing." Watteau finally admitted, putting aside her petty argument with Fatteauil.

"Agreed." said Fatteauil.

Just then, as if on cue, a taxi arrived right in front of them. Fatteauil walked right in before facing her partners.

"I got to hand it to you, Watteau. Perhaps you are indeed a great partner. But next time, please try to stay out of my way." She closed the door and the taxi drove off into the distance, leaving behind a disgruntled Watteau to sneer at her.

"Why ze nerve of zat woman!" she ranted. Bastings patted her back in reassurance and prompted the two to walk back to headquarters.

"Come on. Let's head on home." As they headed for the next taxi stop, Watteau looked to Bastings.

"Bastings, can I ask you somezing? Zat is, if you prefer to leave my little rivalry alone."

"Go on."

"Who would've you chosen to your partner? Me or Fatteauil?"

"Fatteauil is indeed a clever and calm woman. Innovative, quiet and strict. That's why I kind of find her rather... a little boring."

"But quiet is your nature."

"Yes, but I do love a little excitement and action. I can't choose between you two, but I think I'm a lot more used to you than her for now."

"Aww. _Merci._ " she affectionately thanked the young lad, causing the two laugh heartedly.

"Anyway, I'm famished with all of this running and trapping. Let's get ourselves a little savoury snack on the way."

* * *

"Let us get a bagel to celebrate our day."

As the two hungry and grateful partners walked for a late night snack, at the President's office, a neatly dressed man approached him at his desk. With him was the crate of his package.

"Mr. President. Your package has arrived." informed the Secretary.

"Ah, yes. Virgule Watteau and Annabelle Fatteauil have done it again." said President Roosevelt as he tended to the crate and opened it. In there, the contents of the package were all there for the President to make a grin about.

"Ah. It's all here."

"The blueprints for our new project?"

"No."

He took something from the box. The very thing he had been waiting for the whole time. As he pulled out the object, the Secretary could not believe his eyes. The package so important to the President was actually…

"A chocolate bar?!" That was it? A bar of Cadbury chocolate? The man quickly looked over the crate to find that it was filled to the brim with loads of bars. He then looked up to the President, who was eating an opened bar right about now.

"You got to admit." he said as he started to savour and admire the sweet taste of the treat. "British chocolate hits the spot very well. Churchill never ceases to amaze me. This crate of bars will be just thing for my daughter."

But then, he put down the chocolate on his desk and rested his head on the back of his hands, his face was now turned into a serious one.

"But now that you mentioned it... We should have those plans by tomorrow. How soon can that project be done and over with?" The Secretary too had changed his expression to match the tension.

"I'm not really sure, Mr. President. But we need those plans soon if we want this war over."

"Indeed, but following our reports of these pro-German crooks on the loose, we should increase our security. But for now, I think Virgule Watteau is our only option for these tasks. The Manhattan Project must not be jeopardized at all costs. Do I make me myself clear?"

"Of course, sir. The fate of the free world depends on it."

As the White House comes out of our view, we can only imagine. What kind of project could this be? And what other pro-German criminals would be out there to stop it? The mystery deepens. But as long as Virgule Watteau is on the case, they better watch out, because she is on their tail.

To be continued...

* * *

And the book was finally closed again, with another chapter done and ready.

"Ooohh, what is this Manhattan Project? You must have thought of something." wondered George. But Fern could only wave her finger as to reject the boy's question.

"Ah. But the writer never reveals his secrets. You just have to wait till the story reaches that point." George only sighed, kind of disappointed that he was denied of any further answers.

"Awww. But I just wanna know."

"Patience, my friend. I will let you know on it soon." Just then, her face brightened. Something had stumbled upon her mind that she snapped her fingers in satisfaction. "Yes! I got it. Your pen name. William Hemingway."

"William Hemingway?"

"Since Agatha Shelley is a mixture of Agatha Christie and Mary Shelley, I propose a mixture of my favourite male authors for you, William Shakespeare and Ernest Hemingway."

"Hey, I like it!" George eventually agreed.

"Virgule Watteau: War Detective. Written by Agatha Shelly and William Hemingway. It's a great example of teamwork." She imagined in her head.

"Yep. I can't wait till this gets out to our school." George praised.

"Who knows? I could show this to people all over the world." Fern wondered magnificently, but George decided to ensure her of her limits.

"Uh, let's slow down with that." He said with hands raised up."

"It could work, George. Trust me." Fern seemed very confident with her statement. For George, this was probably a little too big of a dream.

"Right... Well I gotta get going. I think Arthur and the others are playing baseball at the court again."

"Mmm. Sure about that?" she playfully sighed. "Mr. Sad-to-be-away-from-me?" She then quietly teased at what George said to her at school, causing the boy to blush at her teasing. But it was quite inaudible that he wanted her to repeat.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing." Again, Fern continued to play with the boy's mind.

"You know what? Maybe you can come with." George then offered, hoping to change the subject.

"Alright. Come on. Let's see if Arthur and the others have something fun to do. And don't worry about being quiet. I kinda have the same problems but I get along with them at the end."

They walked out after paying for the treats. They both headed out to the field where their other friends were having a blast at playing a game of baseball.

"See that's the common thing you and I have. We don't make enough social contact, but it can be arranged." Fern continued.

"You're right about that. Speaking of which, I wonder if Buster has any of those alien comics he said he bought from that convention."

"It won't hurt to ask..."

They continued their chat on their way to the field. And with that, another exciting chapter had ended.

* * *

 **Phew! That was quite long~ After a lot of re-editing, this was definitely another successful re-upload. Enjoy and review!**


	6. Watteau Gets the Boot Part 1

**Chapter 6: Watteau Gets the Boot (Part 1)**

 **Hey everyone! So apparently, after a much needed hiatus, I can proudly say I'm back!**

 **So yeah, college and homework tend to really hinder my writing time, but then again, it's really important for me so why should I bother arguing?**

 **Anyways, after a rough time, I have finally decided to return to Watteau and update on her escapades. Bad news though, I will not be updating as much as I would like to, given that I have my Power Rangers story to work on as well.**

 **Sadly, also, I must announce that my other Arthur-related projects (the Arthur-Power Rangers parody and the Pinky and the Brain crossover) have to be cancelled. Unfortunately there is only so much I can do to write and frankly, I need that writing for my college work as well. So, again, I must say goodbye to some promising projects :'(**

 **But there is still some good in this return.**

 **I would like to say I'm glad to be back writing this and with DarkAngelSnapeLover (now Chrys DASL) back in her own writing spree, we shall give hope to the Arthur fanfiction that it still has its writers and we would like to remain here to show readers of our works again** **So please, leave a review and tell me on what you think and I shall talk to you all later!**

* * *

The day went by as the kids of Lakewood Elementary exited the school after another day's work of knowledge and endless homework. But a few minutes later, one kid got a little more than he bargained for. At the nearby park, we see our good old George walking along the sidewalk, feeling a little blue.

"These days I just wish I had no homework for the week. My head's still aching from having my antlers locked in the locker." Well, he then had a funny feeling; somewhat a humorous one. "Huh. That actually sounds kinda funny..."

Just then, while trying to adjust to his inner pain, he heard footsteps coming towards him; heavy ones. Suddenly, a rough and tough voice alarmed George.

"Oh George…" The voice sounded threatening and cold. But it was one voice that George knew very well in a really bad way. It was none other than Binky Barnes, one of the local bullies. As he saw the bigger kid cracked his knuckles, George knew he was in trouble. "Just where do you think you're going?"

"Uh… nowhere." George struggled to defend himself, but his timid demeanour made it really difficult to have any effect on the bully. "Just... Uh... Walking along on... This nice park." The boy could only chuckle anxiously, hoping for Binky to at least give him a break just this once.

"Is that so? Well guess what? It's time for you to pay. And I mean, literally."

The bigger boy's voice was intimidating for George. How could it not be? He was a Tough Customer after all. The boy was shivering to the bone as fear struck him hard.

"Uh... I used up all my money on the cafeteria food." He tried again to excuse himself from what might happen next, but to no avail. "So uh... Maybe next time?"

"Very funny." Having none of it, Binky was about ready to do poor George in. "I'll give you five seconds to cough up your allowance, or else..." Clenching his fists, he stomped towards the defenceless kid, causing him to gulp, waiting for the worst.

"Five... Four... Three"

At three, he readied his fist. What was poor George to do? Just run back home? He couldn't. This side of the neighbourhood was Tough Customer territory. It was possible that another bully would come out of nowhere to snatch him up. Just what could he do now?

"Two..."

And the fist rose to the air. George covered his eyes and readied for the blow. There was no choice but to submit. He put a hand in his pocket to search for the money while the other arm was raised for defence.

"One..."

"Hey you!"

Suddenly, a female voice, sharp and almost quiet could still be heard.

Binky stopped and turned around. George could barely look for a few seconds. And when he did, he saw that help has arrived. But instead of a bunch of good friends or maybe a teacher or two, it was none other than Fern Walters! And boy, did she look cross!

"Argh. What do you want, Fern?"

What was Fern thinking when she was standing up to him? Binky could not believe his eyes when she her, of all people, giving a glaring stare, looking to force Binky to let her friend go. Who was she and what did she do to Fern?

"I want you to leave George alone. Like what has he done to you?"

"Oh nothing. Just borrowing a few bucks is all." Unimpressed, Binky continued to threaten George, who quickly shielded himself again.

"And you can't even use your own?" Suddenly, Fern brought about a powerful statement, which seemed to have caught Binky by surprise.

"How would you know I have any?" He placed his hands at his hips, staring down at Fern.

"Oh I know." With a sassy smile, she pointed at Binky's back pocket and found that there was a dollar bill sticking out of it. Sheesh. Binky was just as a terrible liar as George was.

"Ah, big deal. Just leave or I'll call Molly over." Binky threatened. "She's a girl so she'll take care of you." But despite the threat, Fern maintained her ground.

"Oh really? Well for your information, Molly's not in town. I saw her family's car leaving off out of town this morning. From the looks of things, she ain't gonna help."

However, despite the fact that his backup was not there to deal with the girl, Binky turned his attention on Fern and walked towards her, bent on harm. George could only watch helplessly, fearful for his friend's safety.

"Run, Fern! Run!" But Fern did not. She stood still, still defiant.

"Yeah. You heard him. I'm not gonna go easy on you just because you're a girl."

Suddenly, just as Binky was ready to intimidate her some more, Fern suddenly dragged her right foot forward a little and made a posture that would seem like she was ready...

... to fight!

"Oh yeah. Well you've been warned. Take this! HIIIIYAA!"

She swung her right hand forward to a chop. Then, she pulled it back and threw her left fist forward. She proceeded to do a right kick. Again and again, Fern made multiple kung-fu-like moves. Although they did not actually hit Binky, but with every move she made, Binky grew more and more intimidated. Then, finally, Fern did one swift kick to the ground with a hard stomp.

Although not being hit, Binky was sure feeling the chills at that point. After being psychologically attacked, Binky had had enough. He ran for his life as fast as he could, screaming at the top of his voice. George just stood and watched as Binky bit the dust and then walked over to Fern, who finished her fake attack with a playful bow. She never knew she had it in her to stand up to Binky like that. It was almost like she was growing really fast.

"Wow! That was amazing! Well, you weren't really fighting. But did Binky sure run!" praised George.

"You can say that... OW!"

When she moved the leg that hit the ground earlier, she felt a sharp pain in her foot. She crouched down and held it tightly, massaging the pained limb. Maybe she overdid it a little.

"You alright?!" George frantically went over to his friend's aid.

"Ugh. No problem. Just a silly mistake not warming up first. Ouch!" Yeah, no problem at all…

"Here." George gave her a hand and helped her up slowly. Fern then wrapped her arm around George as she lifted her hurt foot lightly. George held her back and both started to move slowly towards a bench under a tree, coloured with everything red, orange and yellow from the autumn season. Leaves drifted down faster than you could say, "fall". As he helped her, George was somehow blushing red in his cheeks. He had helped people like this before, but never before did he help a girl. Regardless he moved with her to the bench and sat down, still blushing.

"Thanks for the lift." thanked Fern.

"Uh yeah. I guess we're even." The two then began another lengthy conversation, but something about the whole deed of helping Fern had made the two a little awkward. They just didn't seem to know why, but they were really blushing red in their cheeks.

"So um... how was your day?" Fern began.

"What? You mean you haven't seen all the homework Mr. Ratburn gave us?" joked George.

"Okay. Other than that?"

"Well not so good. Had my... antlers stuck in the locker." George rubbed his antlers from the sores he had suffered from his unfortunate accident, which earned some giggles from Fern.

"Again? Geez. When will you learn to look carefully next time?"

"Hopefully before I graduate." The two laughed heartily. "Anyway, where did you learn those moves?"

"Oh that. Well, it's all actually _tai chi_ moves from Mr. Wu. You know, those slow-moving, peaceful moves he and I always do at the other park? I just roughed it up and went harder with every move. And... ow... this is what I get. A hurt foot." Fern's foot was rubbed to ease the pain suffered by her mishap.

"Well you looked awesome out there." George insisted, but Fern waved her hands out.

"Oh no. It's nothing really."

"Tell that to Binky. He certainly bit the dust after what you did."

They took a short glimpse at the empty playground in front of them and all was quiet for now. But the peace and quiet was not to be without an activity for them.

"Hey, since we're here in this peaceful and quiet park, shall we pass the time with another chapter of Virgule Watteau?" suggested George.

"I do need something to distract me from all this homework after all. So let's go for it." agreed Fern. As she took out her notebook and pencil, ready to continue her story, she looked around the park. "Now I just need something to put in it. An item of interest. Something to be the next victim of our next case."

George also looked around, hoping to assist Fern in the development of her next caper. Suddenly, something caught his attention. A big boot on the sidewalk.

"Hey. Isn't that one of Binky's boots?" He pointed out.

"Hey you're right. He must've dropped it when he ran off. Well he did deserve that running but I guess we should return it somehow." said Fern.

"I'll get it." George walked to get the boot. Picking it up, he came back with it in hand. "I dunno how I'm going to return this without getting pulverized. And... Ew, this boot is muddy, like he ran a military camp or something."

Just then, as if George was psychic, Fern had an idea striking at her.

"George, you've done it again. I just got a plot for this next chapter. The Case of the Missing Boots."

"Or why don't you call it, "Watteau Gets the Boot"?" suggested George with a snicker. "Get it? Because she gets the boot as in... you know... uh..." But he was not fooling anyone at this point.

"Okay…" Fern sighed. "Good call anyway. Let's get to work, Hemingway."

"Right behind you, Shelly." As George sat next to Fern again, the girl had something interesting to say.

"Oh and did I mention my granddad used to be in the army back then?"

"No way! Really?" exclaimed George.

"Mmhmm. He came yesterday to spend a few nights with us and I spent some time listening to his days on the actual battlefield! Can you believe that? Now I don't have to worry so much as to where my story gets stuck at. Like I used to say once, the best stories are told from the people who experienced them. I've got some pretty useful info from him right here."

"Then, let's hop to it."

"Could've said it better myself. And so our story continues..."

* * *

 _3rd September 1942,_

 _The war entered its third year. The Allies were on the move in North Africa while American Marine boys put their all against the Japanese in Guadalcanal. But as for the duo of crime-fighters, Virgule Watteau and Bastings their battles were getting tenser and tenser as now with the threat of Jacque Anton, an egoistic pro-Axis Frenchman, looming around. And just when they have settled with him, along came another puzzling case, just waiting to be solved._

At Army Base Benjamin, Watteau and Bastings walked past the entrance under special permission once again. The patriotic sounds of trumpeting of the ' _Battle Hymm of the Republic_ ' could be heard in the distance.

"Ah, the symphony of army music." admired Bastings as he walked to the rhythm. "Reminds me of the ol' ' _British Grenadiers_ ' if I say so myself."

" _Oui, mon ami._ " agreed Watteau. _"_ Makes me feel proud of zheir fighting spirits."

They continued their path to the army headquarters. Inside the building, there was a man dressed in a military uniform, having a single silver stripe emblem on his hat, and a cane in hand. He sat at his desk on the phone, talking rather worryingly. The man; First Lieutenant Edward Hamilton. **(A/N~ He is played by Principal Haney)**

"Yes, sir. I-I understand, sir. I'll have them up right away." Frantically speaking to someone clearly superior in ranks to him, he hung up the phone, then held his head down on the desk, letting out a groan. He looked up to notice the two detectives. Instantly, he activated his authority figure mode.

"Excuse me?!"

Watteau was about to speak up when...

"Just what kind of frail-looking posture is that? Attention!" The lieutenant screamed with strict power in his voice, causing the two stand firmer than usual, exchanging looks of awkwardness at each other after that.

"You. The one with branches sticking out of your head. Legs straighter. Head up high! Bastings stood as firm as he could, stuttering in his stature.

"Good." Lieutenant Edward huffed. before briefing the detectives of the case at hand. "First things first, I want you to keep at this position when you see me or any of the other superior officers around here. And also, from now on, you'll address us as "sir". Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly." Watteau addressed the Lieutenant, though to the large man, the confirmation did not feel complete.

"I didn't hear 'sir'." Another strict attack from the lieutenant caused a sensation of panic in Watteau.

" _Oui,_ sir!"

"Close enough but I'll let that one slide. Now I'm sure you're aware that we're in grave danger right now." affirmed Watteau.

" _Oui_. We got your call about some lack of somezing important in ze army and we are sent here to solve ze case."

"Ahem." A cough from the Lieutenant reminded the detective of a missing feat in her speech to him.

"Um, sir."

"Indeed." The Lieutenant shrugged. "Let me bring you one of these lifesavers we were able to keep." He opened a cabinet behind him. The two detectives grew more curious about what was so crucial to the war effort in this case.

"Is it a stolen case of Garand rifles, sir?" asked Watteau.

"Nope." The Lieutenant shook his head.

"Is it an ammunition theft?" suggested Bastings, also earning a rejected answer.

"Negative."

"Rations?"

"Again, no."

"Brodie helmets?"

"N- Wait what was that?" asked the Lieutenant, confused to the object Bastings was referring to.

"You know. What you Yanks call them "doughboy" helmets."

"Oh no. Besides, those things are too… British. Um no offense, soldier."

"None taken, sir." Bastings sheepishly muttered.

Meanwhile, Watteau signalled Bastings for a brief whisper while Lieutenant Edward was still rummaging through the cabinet, tossing out all sorts of things; a button, a picture frame, a pistol and an umbrella.

"Did he just call you a soldier?" she called.

"I guess so. But you got to respect these Yanks. They have something righteously respectful about their demands for discipline and undying military honour."

Watteau: Don't you zink he is taking it a bit too far?

Bastings: Yes, but if this doesn't make him so great in these times of war, then I don't know what would the boys do with him.

Finally, the strict Lieutenant found the item of the day. He hid it from them in his chest, as if to present to them as a thrilling mystery.

"Take a look, soldiers. This is the very thing that can save every single Marine, Ranger and Infantrymen out there in the field! I give you…"

He then swung forward the item towards the anticipating detectives. Just what was it that was gaining attention of the crooks behind the case?

"The boot!"

And there it was. A brown, shabby but still tough military edition boot. But Watteau and Bastings didn't seem to get the picture.

"Um. Zat is… uh… very unique… sir." They really tried to find a good way to address the situation, but they still could not believe that was all there was to it.

"Yeah. Uh, it does… have that sense of military greatness. It gives… um… uh."

"Come on. You don't see this as a needs to an end of this war?" He exclaimed to the detectives, putting down the boot to show them the error of their thoughts. "Without these standard boots, no American soldier is safe from littered shrapnel or left over shards of glass or bits of wood that can easily wound a person up to the point where he ain't gonna walk or run and fight. Without these, no soldier is going to run up the hills or beaches at fast succession. Without these, no one will be safe from the threat that is the lack of foot hygiene! Without these, an American soldier is a wreck! Without these, an American soldier is… is… NOTHING!"

Despite all that drama, the two could only utter an…

"Uh…"

The Lieutenant could have none of it, though.

"Ten-hut!"

Sir!" As the Lieutenant marched here and there in the room, his hands were firmly behind his back and walked like his legs were made out of wood.

Edward: Somehow, someway. These boots have gone missing in action in just ONE night.

Watteau and Bastings let out gasps of shock. Hundreds, if not thousands of military boots, guarded by cautious guards, all stolen in one night! How can such a crime be committed in just one night?

"We received reports at about five-thirty sharp this morning."

"Excuse me, sir?" asked Bastings, clearly not used to the standard American military slang.

"He means five-o-hundred. American time standards." explained Watteau, satisfying Bastings' curiosity.

"Some dog-gone crook has been boot-napping our footwear right from under our noses. And if I don't get these boots to General Patton in North Africa by this week…" The Lieutenant let out a deep gulp of fear, troubled by what would happen to him as a result of his failure. "…then I'll be slapped with such a cruel and disrespectful kind of way." As he moaned in terror, Watteau and Bastings could not help but feel ridiculed by these 'horrors' plaguing the Lieutenant at this point. Nevertheless, they were to carry on. It was still agreeable that this boot theft was a hindrance to the war effort in America and they needed to get the job done.

"You won't have to worry, sir. But why do I get the sudden feeling that's still going to happen to someone else?"

Watteau just shrugged, agreeing with Bastings to continue on with the case.

"Rest assured, _monsieur_." She told Lieutenant Edward, but not before quickly realizing her informal tone just in the nick of time. "I mean, sir. Ze detectives are on ze case."

"Alright. Enough with the chit-chat." Satisfied with the detectives' attention, Lieutenant Edward soon delivered the final details and directed the detectives to their next phase of the case. "The site of the crime is just a few blocks from here. You'll meet with a Sergeant Redford there. And don't forget. Stand straight and address him as "sir". And yeah, solve the case. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Unfortunately, the detectives somehow did not take the note of addressing the military officer the proper way.

"It seems that you have forgotten our little agreement. Louder!"

"SIR, YES, SIR!" The two stood up like a couple of branches, stiff and straight, complying with voices of the loudest volumes possible.

"At ease! HUT-TWO-THREE-FOUR!"

Lieutenant Edward sat back at his desk as the two detectives marched out on his rhythm. It went on until they've reached the outdoors. When the door shut behind them and all was silent, they let out a sigh of relief.

"Whew." Watteau wiped off the cold sweat dripping from her head. "Let's not speak of zhis again."

"Agreed. And well done, Watteau. You managed to say "yes" instead of " _Oui_ "."

"I did?" She grabbed her chin in curiosity. "Oh, how observant of you." But there was more important stuff to deal with than listening into weird grammatical rarities. "Now let's go! Ze case is on!"

They walked towards a few buildings away from the HQ. As they walked by, they witnessed more troop squads performing their usual exercises. They ran across wooden logs across ditches. They crawled under low barb-wire, with the sounds of heavy machine-guns firing above them. And the all-time favourite to most, the firing range; with young and excited youngsters willing to take aim at a bunch of harmless target dummies with some of the finest weapons they had. Bastings caught sight of one such weapon at the hands of an instructor, lecturing his students about the usage of it. The gun had an almost thin frame with a wooden stock attached to its back and a drum-shaped magazine stuck in it.

"Blimey. Is that a Tommy gun?" Bastings recognized the design of the gun.

"Indeed it is, Bastings." Then, as if looking at the same gun, she soon looked back into a previous case in her head. "It reminded when I solved my first case at one time in Paris. 1933, if I'm not mistaken. Ze Case of ze Stowaway Mafia, who were armed with zhese lean, mean fighting machines."

"Ah yes. Our first mission together."

" _Oui_. Such good memories." They took a few seconds to relive the memories of how they first worked together to solve the case of the runaway mafia. It was a rough start for the both of them, as Watteau had become accustomed to Bastings' clumsiness for the first time. It was indeed an annoying experience, but over time, she began to understand the lad more and more. Next thing they knew it, they were the ultimate crime-fighting duo, ready to kick Axis butt.

"Come, _mon cher ami_. Let us make anozher one for ze road."

As the two continued on, they made it to another half-cylindrical building. A sign nearby marked "Boots Room" says it all about its purpose. Outside the front door, a tall, charismatic young man, with his hands behind his back, was waiting outside. As they got closer, they saw that he had a three-bended-stripe insignia on his shoulder. They could tell he was a Sergeant and also with his patient posture, they also knew it was Sergeant Redford **(A/N~ played by Mr. Ratburn)**

"Ah, you must be the inspectors of this here case." he politely called. Watteau and Bastings stood at attention, just as Lieutenant Edward had instructed them while anticipating another strict calling from the army man.

" _Oui_! Zat is correct, sir!" Watteau formally acknowledged. However, instead of strictly accepting her greetings like Lieutenant Edward did, Sergeant Redford was more of a man with the pleasantries of a common civilian, insisting on Watteau to ditch the army chanting style. He let out a small chuckle and spoke with a softer and more enthusiastic tone compared to First Lieutenant Edward.

"Oh, you must have run into First Lieutenant Edward. Don't need to be formal. Just be at ease."

Relieved, the two eased up their bodies and sighed, knowing that they do not have to do this whole army saluting and stuff.

"Now then, this way." Sergeant Redford showed them into the building.

* * *

What they found was all the more intriguing for Watteau. The room had shelves and cabinets lined up along the walls, but to her surprise, although there were socks, belts, shoe polish and such other accessories, there were no shoes or boots at all! And the pungent smell of stinky socks was really getting into her nose.

" _Sacre bleau_!" She braced herself by pinching in her nostrils to block off the noxious smell. "Zhere is nozhing here but smelly socks!"

As they plugged their noses, the three of them went in, walking along the peculiar-looking room.

"Blimey. There's really not a single whooping shoe or slipper anywhere. Just more toxic gas emitting from the rotten piles of worn socks." Bastings' face cringed after taking a whiff at the air.

"Whoever stole the boots must be a real expert shoe-snatcher. Not even a German spy could waltz right in and take everything." explained Sergeant Watteau.

" _Oui._ If someone is to take all of ze boots in one night, zhen it would be impossible. Unless, he or she did not act alone." Watteau's assumptions had given Bastings a little more taste to the brainstorming.

"Multiple suspects? Clearly this base is heavily guarded. If many men were to be involved in this, then the chances of slipping out undetected would be very low."

"Eenteresting." Her desire to look around was evident as she looked to Sergeant Redford to seek his approval on searching the area for clues. "If you don't mind, _monsieur_ , we're going to take a look around."

"Be our guest."

The search for clues was on. They searched the cabinets and lockers, only to find footwear accessories like polishes and laces. They searched at the corners of each support, but there was nothing but cobwebs and dust. Bastings even took time to look into a small crack on the wall. He then jumped in complete shock as a pair of unsettling eyes lurked in the darkness in the hole, only to fade away when out came a cute little mouse. While it scurried off into the distance, Bastings let out a sigh of relief to reduce his tensions and resumed the hunt for possible evidence. And then, Watteau found something at the other end of the room behind a locker. She looked behind it and saw that it was a shabby-looking military boot. She bent down and examined it with her magnifying glass.

"A boot!" There, Watteau pulled out the lone boot to show to the others. "It must have been dropped while it was being taken away with the rest of zhem. And ze criminals did take ze deliberation to return for it I suppose. It must contain some evidence here."

"Why not we take it back to the Bureau for analysis?" suggested Bastings.

"A brilliant plan, Bastings." agreed Watteau. She took out a pair of large tweezers and picked up the boot with them. She then placed it in a sealable plastic bag. Bastings then placed it in a backpack Sergeant Redford gave him.

"Now with zat settled, we should press on elsewhere. Zhere maybe more zhan one camp to loot from." Watteau informed.

"But how will we know which camp to go to?" asked Bastings.

"I suspect that the next camp will be Army Camp Lancer. It's just a hundred miles from here, but still the nearest from here." suggested Sergeant Redford.

"Well said. Let us hope zhere will be some boots left for zhem. But first we must take ze sample boot back to ze lab."

"Alright. Meet me there at eight-o-clock sharp."

"At twenty-o-hundred tonight." She looked to Bastings, but the British detective insisted that he got the message.

"Yes, yes, I get that one."

And so, with the evidence they needed for now, our heroes rushed back to Detective Bureau's Laboratory of Forensic Science to investigate for signs of forensic evidence to track down their suspects. If there was anyone who could provide them with the latest in crime-solving technology, it had to be one particular scientist within the Bureau.

* * *

After two hours since they left the army base, they entered the laboratory, which looked pretty much like a school chemistry lab instead of a mad scientist's lab. In that room, there was a man **(A/N~ played by the Brain)** dressed in a lab coat and wearing spectacles. He was carrying two test tubes filled with some liquid chemicals; one green and the other red in colour, in them. As he attempted to mix a drop of the red liquid into the green substance, Watteau walked at his side.

" _Bonjour,_ good doctor."

But the intensely-focused started to tremble from the sudden call, nearly dropping the test tubes. He then turned to the detectives looking almost livid.

"I told you to knock before you come in!" he scolded.

"Apologies, Eugene old champ." said Bastings. The scientist merely shook his head from the stress and shock before shrugging his shoulders

"Forgiven. Now what can I do for you two?" he asked.

"We just came back from Army Base Benjamin. We believe a bunch of boot-stealing thieves is on ze loose and ready to strike at another camp."

"A boot theft, huh? Well, fire away then. What kind of forensic discovery have the two of you managed to unearth?"

Bastings took out the sealed boot from his bag and handed it to Watteau.

"We have managed to find a boot left in ze scene of ze crime."

Dr. Eugene took the boot with his pair of large tweezers and placed the boot on a microscope and examined it through the scope. On the boot, he could see minute bits of dirt contents on the zoomed-in surface of the boot. As he scanned on for a minute, all he could find were the same dirt particles within. But just then, something different caught his eye.

"AAAHHH!" The doctor let out a scream before he recoiled and fell backwards to the floor on his behind.

"Ow!" The two detectives came to his aid, picking up Eugene as he rubbed his eyes from what had blinded him.

"Are you okay, doctor?" asked Watteau inquisitively.

"Great Scott! What happened?" asked Bastings.

"Ergh… I'm fine, but there was a little something I found in the shoe that illuminated my research. And my eyes… Take a look. There were a few shiny particles, that when it shone on the glass, it hit my eyes in a brilliant flash ever so brightly."

Bastings had a go for the scope. The microscope was a little misaligned due to the shaking from Dr. Eugene's fall. When he went over the same spot, BAMM! A strike of light! Bastings, unlike the doctor, was able to stand his ground and keep the microscope on that exact spot for Watteau to take over before stumbling away blindly from the flash. She moved the microscope before using it, she took out one of the black sun lenses found on the table and slid it into place on the scope. When she laid her eye on the lens, she examined the tiny particles. She was able find the shiny bits, but thanks to the new lens, she was able to view them without problems.

"Ah, it appears zat zis boot has a hint of a woman's favourite accessory. Glitter." She immediately deduced. Watteau took a smaller pair of tweezers and picked up a few bits of glitter found on the boot.

"Glitter? On a boot?" wondered Bastings. He then turned to look at Eugene. "Is there any specific reason why anyone would use glitter, my good doctor?"

"Not as far as I've researched." He shrugged, unable to even hypothesize on what use would glitter do to military-grade boots.

"Glitter is used for many zhings, but if I know one zhing and I do, glitter is a righteous additive to one's beauty."

Then, in an instant, Bastings came up with something else he had just remembered.

"That's not all!" He snapped his fingers. "I didn't want to say this, but after Watteau's assumption, I guess I have reason to speak it out. I did smell something rather… fragrant. Like, girly-fragrant. Not to mention that it did make my nose a little tingly."

Watteau took a sniff herself. Indeed, she could pick up a rather pleasant smell on the boot.

"You're right, Bastings. Chanel No.5. I can smell zat scent of obsessive perfume anywhere. And I know one fashionista who can't resist a good usage of zis."

Watteau took out a notebook, which contained a list of her most notorious foes. Inside, it was seen, and obviously predicted, that the Grey Dove, her number one enemy, was on the very first page of the list. But as she flipped through the pages, she looked for the one crook possibly responsible for the crime. And with a few more flips, there she found her suspect.

"Mary Hilliard!"

* * *

 _Mary Hilliard_ ** _(played by Francine)_**

 _A fashion-obsessed woman from Manchester, England. This rambunctious young lady is always out for the latest trend in modern dressing. But what really gives her that criminal identity is the extreme lengths she goes through at obtaining them. She has been known to steal dresses, perfumes and anything else relating to fashion worldwide. She even attempted to steal clothes and shoes as far as British India or as near as London. But her favourite target: Paris. Nothing much unpredictable about Paris' never-ending supply of fresh and new trends of fashion. And Mary has made the most runs here than any other place in the world. Watteau has come across her several times in jewellery or clothes stores, but the sneaky thief has a trick up her sleeve. She can use her own beauty to seduce her goons and even policemen into dealing with Watteau. And when that fails, she gets away with a quick blow of her glitter bombs for a quicker getaway. She is a formidable foe to face and comes to show that looks can be deceiving._

* * *

The two detectives thanked the good doctor Eugene and left the room, with now a prime suspect at the top of their list.

"What does Mary Hilliard have to do with all of this?" asked Bastings.

"Eeenteresting question, Bastings." wondered Watteau. "As far as I know, she is not ze type to go for military attire. It is, 'ow you say, too boyish for her."

"Yes. But the evidence might stand for it. All we have to do now is to hope that she goes for that camp Sergeant Redford said would be the next target."

" _Moi_ as well."

* * *

Four hours later, dusk filled the sky as the sun set in the horizon over the Army Camp Lancer, where a watchful Sergeant Redford scanned the area from afar on a rocky cliff with his binoculars. He lowered them down from his eyes and looked around for Watteau and Bastings. And it didn't take long for him to wait. The two arrived quietly, but almost a little too quiet. Their arrival had triggered a sudden snap of a branch which spooked the seeking Sergeant.

"Oh!" He jumped up to find the two detectives. "You scared the living grades out of me!"

" _Je suis désolé_ , _monsieur_ Redford." Watteau apologized. "Any sign of a zheft?"

"Nope. Not a single man." answered Sergeant Redford.

"Then how about a woman?" asked Basting further.

"A woman? What?" Redford was wondering if the British man was fooling around at a time like this and was about to stop him but Watteau interrupted him.

"Ah. So all is quiet zhen." Redford decided to ignore the brief conversation and returned to business, with Watteau and Bastings following him down on the dirt and looking at the base.

Suddenly, Bastings took a little sniff... at Sergeant Redford's clothes.

"Bastings. What on Earth are you doing?" Watteau, disgruntled, whispered roughly to Bastings.

"Sorry, Watteau. But I can smell something very... um..." Without warning, Sergeant Redford called out to them.

"Hostiles spotted."

Forgetting about another Bastings mishap, they watched closely from afar as they spotted two silhouettes going into a building in the camp through what may be a ventilation shaft just beneath the building. Watteau took the binoculars from Redford and surveyed the scene.

"You sure zhose aren't your men?" asked Watteau.

"Why would we go in through a ventilation shaft to enter a building? Doesn't that look suspicious to you?"

"He has a point." Watteau looked closer again. As she squinted her eyes, she saw yet another silhouette appearing. She studied the figure as she noticed a few glaring features. The shadowy being soon swung its body around and that was when Watteau took note of that one sure sign that gave her the answer she needed.

"Long, wavy hair it seems. No doubt. It is definitely Mary Hilliard." she confirmed. Redford was indeed curious as to know how Watteau came to figure out the person's identity, but decided to let it go. It was her case after all.

"No one seems to notice them at all." noted Bastings.

"Well I'm not going to sit around here any longer. We got to hurry down zhere and put a stop to ze crooks." Watteau stood up and handed Redford the binoculars. It was time to get some action.

They began the trek to the base and scale down the cliff.

* * *

The trio had arrived at the base. They wouldn't want to warn the hostiles of their whereabouts, so they quietly snuck their way into the base. It was almost similar in appearance to Army Base Benjamin, but this time, it was a much larger place, serving as a depot for lines of Sherman tanks and Willys jeeps parked under roofs. With Sergeant Redford joining the team, they didn't have to worry about being suspected for trespassing. They approached the half-cylindrical building where the thieves entered. Watteau went to the same spot where she saw the people enter the building. Her assumption was correct that there was a ventilation shaft there, fairly large enough to fit a man inside by crawling inside.

"Zis is it." She pointed up at the shaft. "Zis is how zhey got in."

"Now we get in there and catch 'em."

They opened the front door extra quietly to not surprise the crowd. The room inside was another boot-fiesta. Standard-edition, military boots, ready to be shipped to the men in Africa. Then, they tip-toed right behind a pile of crates. They took a peek over them and saw all that was unfolding in the room. Two dark silhouettes taking the boots one by one and pair by pair, putting them all into large sacks. Then one figure emerged from an exit at the other end of the room. He took two of the sacks and walked off outside.

"Bingo."

Then, with a blink of an eye, Watteau decided to take action and jumped right in, pointing her cane at the fiends!

"Aha! Hold it right zhere, Mary Hilliard!"

The beautiful yet mischievous woman revealed herself, swinging her wavy, glittery hair as she turned her head to face Watteau. She wore her usual red, sleeveless shirt and pink skirt and a straw hat to top it off, literally. Joining her in the crime was a little shocking surprise for Watteau. He was dressed in a military field jacket and cargo pants with a camo-style fashion, with a combat helmet on top. Watteau knew that the accomplice was not a goon of Mary's. But he was also an American soldier, much to the shock of Sergeant Redford.

"Oh look. If it isn't the heroic and not-to-mention fashionably-outdated Virgule Watteau." scoffed Mary. Her taunts didn't seem to threaten Watteau, but she was still willing to face her adversary.

"So, targeting military attires now, are we? I should've known your obsession with fashion could get you zhis far."

"Obsession?" Mary continued to mock Watteau in a teasing manner. "Darling, you should by now that I'm doing the right thing. Helping people realize the importance of a beautiful tradition."

"By stealing military boots?"

"This old rubbish? Please. My ex-boyfriend could wear straw sandals better than this." She disposed the pair of boots she picked up earlier. "So, you want to know my latest invention. Well, here's what will literally be in store for you. These military boots, brown as a dead leaf, completely uncomfortable, too big and not to mention, the dirtiest things people could possibly have on their legs. Eck!"

"But isn't that the point? You need to wear these if you want to traverse through mud and all." protested Bastings.

"Oh, my dear, why would anyone thread on dirt? It is such a crime! That is why I intend on improving them."

"With what? Pink laces and sparkles?"

"Wh-? No! That is so for 4-year-olds. I desire to make boots that can make a proud Yankee soldier the top dog of the field. Even the enemy won't be able to resist until they have no choice but to surrender."

"Oh please. How does colouring boots make a soldier better in ze field? Do you know ze consequences if zhey wear such bright colours?" warned Watteau.

"You could give away their covers when they need them. Think about how commandoes get in behind enemy lines. Don't you think that type of display could alert the enemy? That's why they need THIS particular colouring. To make it look like dirt."

"Pfft! Exactly why I hate this war! Such a wasted opportunity to send out fashion accessories if people are spending money on fighting some other lunatics from the other side of the world and not MY products!"

"Zhis war is more important zhan your pitiful, failed money-wasters!"

"Whatever. I'm just about had enough of you two interfering with my plans! Take this!"

Mary took out a colourful-looking bomb of some sort and tossed it right front of our heroes.

"Take cover! Grenade!"

Sergeant Redford jumped right at the detectives, shielding them from whatever blast might come out of the grenade. But it wasn't a real grenade. As it blew up in a pop, a pink, thick cloud of smoke filled the air. When it enveloped on the recovering trio, they coughed and coughed, gasping for air.

"Don't worry, Sergeant…" Watteau coughed up from the gas. "It's just one of Mary's noxious escape accessories!"

"So long, ruffians!" Mary mockingly waved at them. "Hope you'll catch me soon! In the cover on a fashion magazine! HAHAHAHAHA!"

Watteau, Bastings and Sergeant Redford continued to cough in the smoke. But as it cleared, so did their coughing. Watteau looked around from the clearing smoke to find that Mary Hilliard and her accomplice had vanished!

"She's escaping! Stop her!"

"Yes. Let's stop her before she takes the truck with those boots!" shouted Sergeant Redford.

"Huh?" Bastings seemed to have noticed something strange somehow, but was too caught up in the action that he decided to run off anyway, following the two others out the building.

They ran out of the building through the exit, hoping to stop Mary in her tracks. Nearby soldiers watched on in confusion and curiosity as the trio looked around for the crooks. But then, all was not going to be well. Amidst the chaos, a truck was coming out of a hangar bay, heading straight for them! Sergeant Redford jumped to the right while Bastings jumped to the left and grabbed Watteau before an accident could occur. After the fall, Sergeant Redford got up and looked on, helplessly at the exit of the camp. The truck drove off after breaking through the gate, with Mary laughing away with her quick escape. As the truck disappeared into the hills, Mary's laughter began to fade away as well. Then, it was heard no more. The mission was a failure. Sergeant Redford got up and looked for Watteau and Bastings. Bastings got up to his knees to help Watteau up. He shook her lightly and rather nervously.

"Great Scott. Are you alright, Watteau? Answer me!"

Watteau eventually came to from her fall and looked up see Bastings trying to wake her up.

"Ergh…" She groaned. "I'm fine, Bastings. Have no fear. _Merci_ for another life-saver, _mon ami._ "

Bastings could do nothing but blush after realizing his nervous behaviour. Just what was he feeling right now? It was kinda… weird.

"Oh, it was nothing." he stuttered as they both got up. However, when he looked at the gate, his expression changed to disappointment. "But there goes the thief again. Blimey. We were so close."

" _Oui_. Nozhing frustrates _moi_ more zhan a criminal successful from his or her crime."

At that moment, Sergeant Redford had arrived to tend to the two of them.

"Well, better luck next time. Don't worry. I'm sure we'll get her next time. We'll meet up later at another date. Have a good night."

To finish up with this disappointing night, Sergeant Redford shook their hands and left the scene.

"He's right. We should get some shut-eye for tomorrow. Tally-ho."

Bastings walked in a short distance, but stopped to find something peculiar behind him.

Watteau was just standing there, with her right hand holding her chin and other holding the cane. One eye was closed halfway as if she was thinking. But Bastings knew all too well that indeed, Watteau **was** thinking. Thinking about a suspicious feature in this case.

"Hmmmm. I might get tired of saying zhis, but somezing smells of ze fish. Zhere is somezhing odd about zhis predicament." she thought to herself.

"Watteau?" Her thoughts were interrupted when Bastings called out to her.

"Hm? Oh. Uh. Coming." she called out to her partner, but the sudden suspicions were still there in her head. "I hope I'll find out what it is soon. I just know it."

Watteau caught up with Bastings and the two were on their way to a military jeep sent by Sergeant Redford, with a driver ready to send them home. As they hopped on and the jeep drove off, Watteau was still having her weird feeling drifting in her mind. What could she be thinking? What is it that got her so suspicious about? That is a question that will have to wait until the next time.

 ** _To be continued…_**

* * *

"Phew. That was a tough one. I don't really know my fashions." stated Fern as she finally closed her book.

"Why not talk to Muffy?" suggested George. "She does have like tonnes of them. I've seen them myself on several occasions." Fern had thought about what he had offered and in turn, she agreed with him.

"Maybe you're right. I'll consider it." Fern looked at her watch. The big hand of it pointed upwards while the shorter one pointed north-east. "Well, I better get home. Mum's making something delicious. I just hope it suits my taste."

But as the two got up from the bench…

"Well, well, well. Look who's still wandering around here."

They jumped and looked behind them to find Binky Barnes, back with a vengeance, and backup. With him was his fellow bully, Molly MacDonald, back from her family trip.

"Oh… Hey, M-Molly. Back s-so soon?"

"Eh, we just got word that the beach was jam-packed. And the traffic was ssooo long. So we got back, only for me to find this coward running off like a chicken." Molly explained, earning a glaring stare from Binky.

"Was not!" he protested. Then, George was quick to try something to get Fern and him out of their unfortunate situation, so he hoped.

"Uh, hey, I-I-I got something here, Binky."

He took the boot Binky accidentally left behind. He took it and brought it back to him, expecting a rude comeback. But this time, Binky didn't threaten him. Instead, he smiled, and with somewhat friendly delight.

"Hey. I didn't notice it fell off. Thanks, George." he said with joy. Maybe this was going to be a good time to not get hurt after all. But as George thought he could walk away without any more harm, he was wrong.

"Now, about that money?"

All of a sudden, Binky's face returned to a menacing look, and Molly did the same, banging her fist with her other hand. The two smaller kids were now once again frightful.

"You wanna spare, Kung-Fu Ferny?" Molly threatened Fern, who gulped in fear as they both backed away from the bullies. There was no way her phony kung-fu would fool them a second time.

"Eh-heh. Easy. L-let's not get too hasty, guys." Fern tried to be civil, but she was too shaken to the bone.

"Y-yeah. We don't want any harm."

Both looked at each other and…

"RUN!"

They both scurried off back home, screaming along the way. The two bullies, however, did not pursue them. They only laughed menacingly.

"Just look at them go." scoffed Molly. "What a bunch of scaredy-cats."

"Yeah." Binky added, but had decided not to bother about them anymore. He got his payback by scaring them off. "Come on, Molly. Let's get back to the playground with the others."

As Molly walked on, Binky bent down and put his boot back on. After tying his shoelaces, he walked to catch up with Molly to meet with the other bullies. But what he didn't know, was that his boot had played a role for Fern and George for the story of Virgule Watteau. How ironic that a bully had given something inspirational for his victims. Well, as a talented English writer once wrote, "all's well that ends well."

 **And thus ends my comeback chapter! Hope you all enjoyed it. Looks like I'll be sticking around for a while, but again, cannot promise fast updates after my busy schedule. Nevertheless, my return is definite and will be around to watch over my fellow writers. The REAL writers.**

 **Until then, I shall see you soon!**


	7. Watteau Gets the Boot Part 2

**Chapter 7: Watteau Gets the Boot Part 2**

On the same night from her narrow escape from the bullies, Fern was in her room, putting away her neatly-folded clothes into her closet. She then sat at her bed dressed in her light purple gown, holding her leg, as it began to feel a little more pain from her attempt to repel Binky from bothering George, not to mention from also running away from Molly. A little good night's sleep would help her recover. However, the night didn't feel complete yet. It was still eight o'clock in the night, but it was a little too early to call it a day. She needed to do something to satisfy her mind. Only then will she finally sleep peacefully.

"This just doesn't feel right. What is there to do around here?" Overcome with a sense of boredom, she got up from bed and went to her bookshelf, filled with all sorts of works by various writers. Shakespeare, Hemingway, Mary Shelly, Mark Twain, Agatha Christie. You name them. But out of all of them, nothing could even catch her attention.

"It feels like I've read them all." She then picked up a small green sock dummy on her table. She laid back to her bed and played with it as a puppet. But once again, a small sigh of boredom.

"It looked much more fun when George did it with Wally." She put it back on the table and went back to walking around, picking up various items for her to complete her time. However, object after object just dumped and piled up right at the corner of her room.

"There's nothing to do! Even cleaning up that pile of stuff could be worth the time."

As she was about to surrender herself to a boring night, she then spotted something in the distance. It was her red schoolbag. She rummaged through it and took out her favourite notebook which contained some of the chapters of her Virgule Watteau story. She thought she needed to find something different to suit her time, but right now, she was left with no choice but to do what she loved to do best.

"Oh well, better than nothing." She took her notebook and pencil and lay down on her bed. She opened it up and began writing away at the next mysterious chapter in the career of the 1930's detective duo.

* * *

7th September, 1942

Another day of waiting was another day the war dragged on. The Case of the Stolen Boots continued to become a real drag for our heroes. The culprit, Mary Hilliard, was able to launch several runs on different army bases on the East Coast, stealing hundreds, if not, thousands of pairs of boots from supply centres. The search went on for a few days since Mary's last heist at Army Base Lancer. So far, the feisty criminal was nowhere to be found, until one day, in New York City at 7:30 p.m…

A dressing store not far from the city square. It may have looked like your average clothes shop, but looks can be deceiving. Our two detectives walked right into the store for a little window-shopping. The shop had everything; tuxedos, jackets, top hats, neckties and other casual wear, hung within glass cabinets or folded in glass shelves. At the store's cashier counter, a young woman counted her daily results of sales.

And it was there where Watteau and Bastings come in, walking past a man in a trench-coat. They went to view the countless amounts of attire on a seemingly-free day.

"Good day, _madame_. And how are we today?"

The woman **(played by Maria)** answered, but in a rather stuttering voice.

"Oh, very good, ma'am. H-Have a look around."

Bastings took a walk in front at a display case of coats while Watteau just stayed at the counter, having a little conversation with the cashier.

"I see business is going well for you, _oui_?" asked Watteau as she leaned on the counter.

"O-Oh, yes. I never e-expect myself to have m-many customers these days. W…W-well, I'm just working here p-part-time and my boss is out to help s-some poor people down South recover from the W-Wall Street Crash.

"Oh?"

As Watteau continued chatting, Bastings continued to view a collection of neatly-folded jeans, wondering if he could buy a pair today. As he walked on, he got closer to a dressing room. Someone was inside, probably trying out some clothes. The curtain was closed, of course, but the occupant was about to exit the room, much to Bastings' unknowing.

"Hmmmm. Have you ever faced a zheft?" Watteau leaned her arm against the counter, hoping to find some answers to the case.

"Excuse me?" the cashier woman asked, unable to understand through Watteau's foreign accent, though Watteau did not find her own voice that hard to understand… at least for her.

"A zheft." She repeated her question, but it was still falling on the woman's long deaf ears.

"Um..." the cashier woman struggled to guess what Watteau was implying. Luckily, Bastings, with years of experience with his French partner, decided to help the woman out.

"She meant "theft", madam."

"Oh. What makes you say that?" The woman asked further.

"Oh. Just wondering. Zhere has been a number of zhefts out zhere at army base camps." Watteau told the woman while looking around the store as if she was watching out for something.

"You don't say?" The cashier woman responded while arranging the dollars and cents in the cashier machine.

" _Oui._ "

As Watteau continued her conversation, Bastings continued to look through clothes, scanning through the numerous pants and suits available for sale. Suddenly, as he passed by the changing room, a lone person began to move out of the changing room. Unknowingly, he bumped into the unknown woman.

"Oh, a thousand apologies, madam." Bastings bowed and took of his hat while apologizing to the woman. She was wearing a white British dress and a large hat of royalty, but her face was not clearly seen due to the fact that she had her head down.

"Oh, it's alright." She gladly accepted the apology. Bastings could not put a finger on it, but the way the woman talked it almost sounded forced. Suddenly, with a sniffle in his nose, Bastings let out a strong sneeze as loud as a balloon pop.

"A-A-AAA-CHOOOO!"

The woman in the dress arrived at the counter while Watteau, pardoning herself from the counter, tended to Bastings, handing him a handkerchief before he let out another blast.

" _À tes souhaits, mon ami._ " Watteau patted the poor British man on the back.

"Thanks." He blew his nose as hard as he could, slightly disgusting Watteau. The woman at the counter continued to talk to the cashier. Then, the cashier gave a small suspicious look at Watteau before the woman gave her a big paper bag and the cashier looked into it.

"Ah. It's all here." She then placed the bag down once she was satisfied. "The dress is yours."

It was indeed a form of bribery, if only Watteau and Bastings could see it instead of focusing on the sneezing. But as the woman was about to walk off without further ado...

"Wait a minute." Watteau suddenly at a stinging thought in her mind while Bastings sniffed out the last of his snot. "Bastings is allergic to one zhing and one zhing only." Her eyes squinted and made a sharp turn to the exit. There, she saw the woman in the dress walking off. With a swing of her cane and her face stern, she called out.

"Hold it right zhere, Mary Hilliard!"

The thief was caught! The hat she was wearing fell to the floor with the sudden surprise, revealing the fashionista crook's face.

With her cover blown, Mary jumped and made a run for it with Watteau and Bastings right on her heels. But as they approached the exit, Mary threw her glitter bomb at them. A puff of pink powder and glitter gushed out, blinding the two pursuers and stopping them in their tracks. As the cloud cleared, Watteau could only see the escaping criminal running off in the distance to the darkness of the streets, letting out another wicked laugh as she went. Watteau could only toss her hat down in frustration. Mary Hilliard has escaped again.

"Drats. Zhat little fiend..." Watteau groaned.

"I'm sorry, Watteau." sighed Bastings. "If only my allergies to her hand-made ' _Maritta Belissimo_ ' nail polish had taken effect sooner. I would have caught her before she could do anything." Watteau patted Bastings again to comfort her friend.

"Don't blame yourself, Bastings. It comes, 'ow you say, naturally." With the capture of Mary being a failure, the pair decided that it was time to clear up the mess made by the criminal.

"Well, we should check on the young cashier woman. I'm sure she is traumatized by the whole event." Bastings did not know it, but he was far from the truth.

The woman looked at her bag again with glee, giggling almost obsessively. However, as the two detectives approached her to provide comfort, she quickly hid the bag down under the counter with haste.

"Apologies, madame." Watteau began. "Zhat crook must've stolen somezhing of importance. To her, at least." She whispered to herself at the last sentence, making sure that she does not offend the quality of her store.

"R-really? But s-she did pay for the d-dress." The woman responded with a seemingly confident face. Watteau was caught by surprise with this revelation.

"Oh? Did she now?" The cashier nodded. Now, things were really off. Mary Hilliard? **Paying** for a dress? It was really odd for someone at Mary's calibre to be actually purchasing something without any content on snatching herself a freebie on the way. Certainly, her little smoke bomb was enough to prove her guilt.

However, Watteau did not have the time to investigate any further. It was late and she needed to report her findings to the Chief before she could take a good long rest at her office. At least the possibility of Mary's presence in the city was enough to call for a local investigation.

"Well, _merci beaucop_ for your time, madame. Hope business goes well regardless." Without any interruptions, Watteau grabbed for her cane and with Bastings, she headed out from the store, opening the door to sound the ringing chimes again.

"Do come back soon." That was all the woman said.

Watteau and Bastings were about to reach to the exit when Watteau stopped to think again.

"Zhis is beginning to get really fishy." She thought. "Why would Mary actually **buy** somezhing if she was in ze middle of a grand scheme? And ze lady at ze counter. Allowing ze customer to wear ze clothes while purchasing? Zat's a new one."

"Perhaps she's just new, Watteau." Bastings cleared up for her. "It happens to everyone." If only he knew…

With a little more thought, Watteau could only sigh, defeated by her loss in confidence. So close yet again, she was about to finally put an end to Mary's shopping spree madness, but the thief was as slippery as an Artic cod on a warm summer.

"Maybe you're right." But as Watteau was about to step out the door, there was activity happening with Bastings' nose. It began twitching again. "Huh?"

"He-he- HYAAAA- CHOOO!"

Bastings then let out another loud sneeze. And this time, after the first burst, he sneezed another one afterwards.

And again.

And again!

Sneezes all the way!

"Again?" Watteau widened her eyes at the shocking yet revolting display. "And much worse zhis time." Bastings blew his nose out with the handkerchief.

"Blimey. How much stuff did Mary touch with all that polish of hers?"

"Or perhaps she..." She then thought of a brilliant idea on how she might solve this peculiar problem. Snatching up Bastings, she then moved him around the store.

The cashier woman, surprised at their return, was getting anxious.

Just what was in the bag that Mary gave that was so appealing to her? Whatever it was, should Watteau find it, there will be no escape.

The further Bastings went, the less intense the sneezing, but once Watteau moved back, the sneezing returned for the worse.

"Ahchoo!" Bastings sniffed up before glaring at Watteau. "I'm being used right now. I'm not a dog you know."

"Just get moving, Bastings." And after more torturous sneezes around the store, the pair eventually came closer to the counter. The cashier woman was perplexed at their arrival, while also clueless as to what Watteau was doing to her store.

"AHCHOO! AAACHOOO!" There it was. It was at the counter where Bastings released a barrage of sneezes here and there. Watteau had zeroed in on her zone of suspicion. The cashier was really starting to shiver now. Unfortunately for her, the ever observant detective had caught her expression.

Watteau knew there was a lot of nail polish at where they were standing, so she took a look around the counter. Getting more alarmed by Watteau's actions, the cashier woman took a quick look under her table for a second before returning eyes on Watteau.

Big mistake…

"Oh madame." The detective, realizing further of the woman's speedy reaction, went back to her for more questions. "When zhat woman came to you to pay for ze dress, did she say anyzhing else?"

"Uuuhhh... N-no, ma'am. I just gave her t-the dress. Done." With an even more stuttering voice and completely losing sentence-building, she was giving Watteau even more hints to her apparent guilt. Watteau looked at Bastings again, who was sniffing his nose. Then she looked back at the cashier woman.

At that moment, she caught the woman; eyes down again.

"Hmmmm." Then, it was time to pull out her trump card. "What are you looking at?"

"Me? Oh uh, haha, nothing. Just an ant on the floor."

But Watteau was not convinced. She wouldn't be. She had met faces like that of the cashier woman before and she knew all too well that it was the face of pure anxiety. A face of guilt and paranoia. Feeling that she had enough answers to confirm her assumptions, Watteau began to walk towards the counter. As she moved closer, the woman got real agitated. Once Watteau approached behind the counter, she slumped over to look under it.

"AHA!" Busted!

The glamorous-looking paper bag coloured in pink and with three red heart shapes, formed in a line across a lip symbol; the insignia of Mary Hilliard's "brand". The case has come to light.

"Oh…" The woman was now in for a whole lot of trouble now. "H-how did that get there?"

"Hmmm. I don't know. Let me see." The sarcasm in Watteau's voice showed that her question was nowhere near convincing. To further prove her point, Watteau moved the bag towards Bastings. And, as she predicted, Bastings sneezed uncontrollably again, much to Watteau's disgust.

"Eck." Appalled by Bastings' sneezing, Watteau moved the bag away from him. " _Merci_ , Bastings." She looked into the bag to find a transparent box of a similar colour scheme inside. Inside it was loads of bottles of " _Maritta Belissimo"_ nail polish. Bottles filled to the brim with pink and purple liquids of polish. The cashier could hold no more.

"Alright you beat me." the woman ended up sighing, defeated and forced to tell the truth. "I admit. I traded that dress with this irresistible work of beauty. How could have I resisted? I wanna look good for the customers." Her confessions were actually truthful to Watteau's ears, understanding the circumstances of dealing with a fashionista.

"Zhere's no doubt zhat Mary's products are razher appealing to every man. Well, almost every man." Watteau turned to a poor Bastings was blowing his nose away. "But still, what you have done is still against ze law. Your boss could use a lot of answers."

"I know." The case was seemingly over that easily. To finish up, Watteau decided to confiscate the nail polish, doing her best to avoid Bastings while rummaging through the bag.

"What do you find appealing in zhis cheap waste of good..."

Suddenly, when she took out two bags containing the polish, she looked into the paper bag again and saw the unexpected.

"Aha!"

Whatever she found, Bastings and even the woman herself were completely confused. However, Watteau pulled out to what she discovered. It was a pair of military boots! They still looked like the ordinary boots, except that now the boots had red-coloured shoelaces instead of brown or dirt-like, and they were painted all over, as well as having glitter all over them!

Suspecting another deeper scheme at play, Watteau stared at the woman.

"Letting ze zhief get away with a dress is bad enough, but now supplying her dirty work?"

However, this time, the woman was now fully denying the allegations, shocked beyond belief.

"W-wait! I d-didn't order a p-pair of old boots. I-I swear!" She waved her hands out, desperately trying to get Watteau to listen to her. As always though, the detective was not buying it.

"Zhen what were zhese doing in ze bag with your new polish?" she asked further.

"I-I don't know." The poor woman continued to insist. "She didn't tell me anything about boots. I did wrong to take the polish, but I did not say anything about those boots. Please you got to trust me on this!"

Finally, Watteau soon thought about the woman's attitude and seemed to have picked up on her expression. She was able to see that the woman was being quite arguable about the issue and that had to mean that there was truth in her voice.

"I zhink you may be right, madame." She acknowledged. "But zhis is still a serious case. Fear not. We will only go as far as question you under ze watchful of ze authorities."

She took out a pair of handcuffs and cuffed them together by the woman's wrists. The cashier woman allowed herself to be arrested with no opposition, feeling guilty over the nail polish-dress trade but she was also feeling betrayed and curious, at the same time, about the hidden pair of boots in the bag.

* * *

Meanwhile, elsewhere back at Army Base Lancer, the scene of the last crime, the area was all quiet again, Guards were watching the area. And at the building where the shoe theft occurred, we see a soldier entering inside it. He took out his flashlight and looked around the dark interior. There were lots of empty shelves from the heist. He walked in, flashing his light here and there. Nothing but fallen boots on the floor and the empty shelves.

But as the light shone on a few crates, something was there that got him interested. A shadow formed, but it wasn't from the crates. It was a human-like shadow. Shining the light back again and, this time, it was gone. Just the shadows of the crates. But to be really sure, he walked to those crates and shone the light directly behind them.

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

* * *

Later on, in the Detectives' Bureau, in a dark and busy corridor filled with other detectives walking around here and there, Watteau and Bastings were spectating a questioning session, hoping to find answers from the possible assailant of Mary Hilliard. Inside the blank room, the young woman was sitting at a table with a fellow detective opposite her. She tried her best to compose herself at such a tense situation. There were signs of extreme nervousness, but she was more than willing to know what the big deal was about her boot ordeal.

"So you didn't know the boots were in there, Miss Wanda Bridgett?" the detective asked.

"I've b-been telling Miss Watteau the s-same thing over and over. O-of course I didn't k-know." insisted Wanda.

"And you said that you've been good friends with her since two months ago?" added the detective.

"That i-is correct, sir. I've been g-getting goods from her ever s-since, in exchange for her p-products."

"Alright. I need you to be honest with me. What else did she say or do to you?"

* * *

 _Okay. It went like this just earlier today. So, there I was. Counting my money. The day was going by just nicely. There were no customers but a strange man in a trench coat and bowler hat. He walked around the store, browsing the clothes like any customer would._

 _Then, out at the exit, came a woman also in a coat and fedora. She walked, head down and hands in her pocket. It was Mary Hilliard herself._

 _As soon as she came in to find the dress I told her about a week ago, the man earlier walked out to the exit._

 _Then Mary came in and took the dress right there near the exit. I don't know this, but they appeared to have stopped at each other for a second there. Probably an accidental nudge. She then walked fast towards the changing room. That was when the two detectives came to the shop._

 _Judging by the pace Mary went by, I was guessing that they were no strangers to her, neither were they her friends, but I wasn't entirely sure. When Mary came to me with her bag, I still didn't feel anything other than the guilt from the possibility of getting caught._

 _And it happened. One of the detectives let out a very strong sneeze. And at that moment, Mary gave me the bag quickly and walked out of the store._

 _Just then, the other detective, Miss Watteau, yelled out to Mary, knowing her instantly when her hat fell off. Mary ran as fast as she could, with the two detectives hot on her heels._

 _I then tended to the bag and couldn't be any happier about getting those nifty nail polishes. But the happiness was not to last. So eventually I got caught and you should know the rest._

* * *

"A-and that's what happened." The suspect had concluded her story, with the detectice in front of her jotting down every detail she told him.

Watteau and Bastings entered the room, awaiting the results of the questioning.

"Well?" Watteau crossed her arms, asking Andrew of the results.

"From the looks of things…" Andrew tipped his cap. "She appeared to have told me the whole truth. I can tell." Watteau rubbed her temples, wishing she would hear better finds from Andrew.

" _Merci beaucop_ for ze help, Andrew." She said before taking over for the detective.

"My pleasure." acknowledged Andrew. "All you need to know about her case is written there on that piece of paper. Knock yourselves out."

He walked out of the scene and Watteau proceeded to read what was written. She read the whole thing explained by Wanda. After a minute, she lowered the paper and tended to the traumatized cashier.

"Madame." Watteau stuck her cane down on the ground. "You know ze consequences of your actions, right?" Wanda drooped her head down, ashamed to even stand up.

"Yes, Miss Watteau." She acknowledged her loss. "I guess I should go to jail, huh?"

"Well, since you have come clean nice and easy, we decided to let it slide for now." The detective delivered the good news to her suspect, which did give some relief to Wanda. However, there were still to be consequences for her actions. "But your boss would still like to have a word with you." Wanda could only lower her head in a mixture and agreement and defeat. She was then escorted out of the room and out of the police station, expecting the worst from her boss.

With Wanda's time in the detectives' case over, Watteau and Bastings walked out of the station themselves, recollecting all the details from their investigation.

Out of everything she was given, there was nothing new to the case, other than a retelling of the incident and the motives. However, there was just one very intriguing detail that really got her thinking.

 _There were no customers but a strange man in a trench coat and bowler hat. He walked around the store, browsing the clothes like any customer would._

 _Then Mary came in and took the dress right there near the exit. I don't know this, but they appeared to have stopped at each other for a second there. Probably an accidental nudge._

"Bastings, do you remember a man leaving ze store earlier?" The woman detective began deducing the notes, to which Bastings followed to assist.

Bastings looked back in his memory. Soon, the British detective remembered something from the time he was in the store.

It was during the moment when Watteau and Bastings entered the store. And then, as they walked through the front door, there was a man who walked right by them, not turning around or doing anything. Bastings did not think, at the time, that he was of any importance, but now that it was clear that this was a person of interest, Bastings could then remember the man just walking a few blocks from the shop, and then, entering a restaurant not far from the area.

"I believe I do, Watteau." Bastings nodded.

"Zhen, spill it. Because zhat man may hold an answer to our case." Feeling newfound hope of her new finds, Watteau kept the piece of paper containing the investigation details and spun her cane like a marching baton. "Judging by ze part here at ze "accidental nudge", maybe zhere is a connection. We find ze man, we find Mary's next plan."

"I could've sworn I saw him entering a nearby diner joint a few blocks away from the store." After the final piece of Bastings' recollection was given, the two wasted no time to return to the site of the crime, intent on following her new leads.

"Zhen zhat's where we may find him. Come!"

* * *

An hour later, they returned to the same area where the shop, by then closed, was located in. They walked down a few blocks to the left as Bastings had mentioned. They stopped outside the local diner mentioned by Bastings, white in colour and had purple linings and a neon-lit hamburger sign on top.

They entered the joint. Thankfully, it was still open for business, but only three people were left dining on the junk food and fast drinks. It was not the neatest-looking diner they have been to. Messy walls and littered garbage all over the floor. Watteau approached the man managing the counter while Bastings looked around for the possible suspect. He was rather a hot-headed-looking man, a little chubby and in his mid-40's by the looks of him.

"Hey, if you're looking for a good meal, then you're our last customers." The man told them off with a rough and rude manner. "We're closing real soon so make it snappy."

"No, _monsieur_. We are looking for a man in a brown trench coat and a black bowler hat. Have you seen one?" The man was busy wiping the last of his dishes before putting them down with the napkin on top, turning to Watteau, clearly annoyed by her persistence.

"Hey, lady. I had lots of those guys coming in here. All of them pretty shady people, so I can't give you the scoop really."

"Zhen did one just happened to come a few hours ago?" Now, Watteau's questions were really starting to piss the guy off.

"What is this? Some witch-hunt for the mafia or something? Look, lady…"

As the unpleasant conversation went on, Bastings checked on the remaining customers in the diner; a casual-looking couple and a man in a tuxedo. But so far, there was no sign of the said man in the trench coat.

Just then, he heard a clanking noise coming from behind. He went to find the source of the sound which came from the restroom. Like the place itself, the restroom was just as filthy. Bastings walked closer into the room. He heard a couple of light thuds coming from behind a door to one of the toilets. He moved, opened the door and looked in.

"Aha! Huh?"

But there was no one there. Just an unoccupied toilet bowl. However, above the toilet bowl, he noticed an open window. He knew someone was indeed trying to escape. He inched closer to the bowl and was about to climb up. But then, suddenly, as he peeped through the window, the loud calls of Watteau from the diner were heard.

"Bastings! Come! We got to move!"

"Uh, okay!"

Bastings looked back at the window. But he didn't climb up to look for anyone. He just walked down from the bowl and was ready to move on when, suddenly, he found something on the floor. It was a piece of paper, but what really got his attention was a sparkling shine on it. He looked at it and saw a lip mark. Obviously this was one of Mary's brand logos. He read through the note that was written.

"Bingo."

He rolled the paper up and exited the area. Unknown to him, however, a mysterious figure was seen peeping out of the window. What appeared to be little eyes became thinner as if they were glares, before the figure disappeared into the darkness of the back ways.

Meanwhile, the two detectives exited the diner. Suddenly, as Bastings was about to join Watteau, another detective of the bureau walked towards them, handing Watteau a piece of paper. Reading the paper, Watteau nodded to the man before turning to Bastings.

"It's Sergeant Redford. Somezhing's up."

* * *

In the same questioning room where Wanda was brought to, there stood Watteau and Bastings, with Sergeant Redford sitting down at the same table. Opposite him, sat a young man in in a white T-shirt and a pair of dog-tags around his neck. He looked like someone who just came out of college. He had impressive muscles and his head looked it had been dashed with red powder; in other words, he was a red-head who had his hair shaved off. He was a young recruit stationed at Army Base Lancer and was there for only two months. Sergeant Redford was looking real strict. Why shouldn't he be? He was the boy's superior after all.

"Now Private David McLellan. Explain yourself." Sergeant Redford looked at the recruit with the most focused look on his face, staring down on the soldier as he sat with his leg crossed over his knee.

But David was resilient, claiming on and on that he had not done anything wrong.

David (played by the teenage cat from the "Bleep" episode of Arthur") continued to call out for his innocence.

"I'm telling you, sir. I did not do anything at all!" The tough-looking boy defended himself.

"Then how do you explain hiding behind that pile of crates in the boots storage room where the heist was committed?" Sergeant Redford shot back.

Knowing the situation he was in, Sergeant Redford simply admitted to his doing in the army base.

"Okay, so I snuck in, but I was only looking for the right size of boots for me. Do you know how tight the ones you gave me were, sir?" His defiance proved to be of a disrespect towards Redford, enough for the man to discipline him.

"Don't you use that tone on me, soldier. How can we be sure that you didn't attempt to steal them for Mary Hilliard?" However, even if David did commit something of an offense, the boy continued to deny any involvement with the fashion thief.

"Please, sir. I'm really telling the truth. I've never even met her."

Watteau had her hand under her chin at this point. All of this seemed quite vague for her. The young lad had indeed snuck in for a new pair of boots, but it wouldn't be that serious enough for a proper trial. It was a lack of discipline which can be easily arranged at the base itself. Why would this case be brought to court so easily? Moreover, why should he be suspected for assisting Mary? But she still was vigilant at the boy, because it was still possible that he could be conspiring. She felt like she needed to step in and take charge of the investigation and see if her involvement could improve things.

"Is zhere anyzhing else you found, Sergeant Redford?" she asked.

"As a matter of fact, I did." Redford then replied. As an answer, he took a plastic bag and put his hand in it. When it came out, he was holding a glitter bomb like the one Mary used last time. The three people looked at David, wondering for the reason he had the grenade in his clutches.

"It looked pretty. I thought of giving it to my girl in Iowa. It may look lethal but it'll fit both of our personalities." he answered.

"How romantic. The combination of two different interests to form one symbolic…" Bastings was giving out something like a dramatic review of a love movie, but the moment was short-lived when Watteau nudged Bastings on the shoulder.

"Whose side are you on?" A firm groan to Bastings was enough to shut him up. Now, with the case now unfolding to a new direction, the detectives decided it was time to continue their investigation. "If it is alright with you, Sergeant, may I take my turn in ze questioning?"

"Uh, sure, Watteau." Complying to the detective's request, Sergeant Redford left the room while Watteau took the seat. Now, she got into serious mode and stared at the young soldier.

"Hmmmm. So, _jeune homme_." Watteau greeted the soldier, though with a language that seemed unfamiliar to David. "Tell me what had happened so we can clear zhings up."

"Look, that grenade was just there on the floor. I picked it up for said reason." David still tried to answer. "And then I went to pick a pair of boots from the shelf. Then it all came down when that shelf broke. I had to run for cover. Yes, I was indeed guilty of a little change for shoes, but doing it for a fashionable fiend? Come on. I told you. I already have a girlfriend."

"Mary has been known for seducing even ze most loyal of men. Zhat is why you get a decent number of soldiers and policemen losing zheir jobs."

"Well, whatever the case. No fashionista can get me to do serious stuff there." Now, a grin was seen on Watteau's face, showing that she was still eager to get some answers from this boy.

"Hmmm. Defiant now, are we?" And still, David fought on.

"Oh come on. You still think I could be lying?"

"It's never easy to persuade the great Watteau." Bastings supported Watteau's argument with his own experience with his partner.

"And she is indeed zhinking zhat you could be hiding somezhing." With such a defiant suspect in her case, Watteau knew it was time to result to the next stage of her investigation. It was time to return to the scene of the crime.

As Sergeant Redford was able to intercept the boy before anything happened, there could be a chance that Mary had not entered the place yet. His records of the equipment there checked out, but she alsk knew that mary was a persistent woman. Thus, it was a good place to start. "We need to be extra sure. We are going to go to ze army base zhat you were stationed at and find out if you're really telling ze truth."

"Okay. But you'll see." That was all David could say before he turned around and huffed in frustration.

Watteau was feeling a sense of disrespect and arrogance coming from this lad, and apparently, she was not liking it one bit. But she refused to allow the boy's attitude get in the way of her judgement. Her thoughts laid within the case of the missing boots and Mary Hilliard.

"I have got a feeling zhat we shall for sure."

Just then, Sergeant Redford came walking into the room, addressing to Watteau and Bastings of a certain business.

"I just got a call from the officer in charge of Army Base Benedict. There seems to be a stakeout somewhere over the hills nearby. Kept on freaking out that it could be a nest of German spies. But duty calls. I must attend."

"You want us to come along?" suggested Bastings, but Sergeant Redford declined.

"Uh, maybe not this time. This is a soldier's business. Like the guy said, it could be some _kraut_ spies. I'll see you around. Good luck."

He then gave a serious look at David, still believing he was possibly involved in Mary's escapades.

As he left their sights, Bastings was doing something almost peculiar. He was sniffing around, sensing something really odd and… sweet?

But then, he was interrupted by Watteau.

"Bastings, you said earlier you found somezhing in ze men's room?" Watteau reminded the man of the note he had found.

"Indeed I did."

He took out the note he found, but Watteau flinched at the thought of it... being left on the floor. Bastings, knowing Watteau's tolerance for hygiene, assured her that the note was in… how you say, cleaner hands.

"Oh don't worry. I'll read it."

"Zhen you better wash your hands after zhis. I can't stand to even zhink zhat you picked zhat paper from ze floor."

Choosing to ignore his friend's statement, Bastings continued on.

"Ahem."

* * *

 _To my dearest fan,_

 _\- Meet me here at Army Base Benedict. We got a whole bunch of boots waiting to be beautified by me! Do keep an eye out from those two detectives._

 _Love, Mary Hilliard._

* * *

"Eeenteresting."

But her interest soon faded when she faced the stubborn David, still looking down. However, her face turned a grin soon after, willing to show this punk that she meant business.

"Well, _Monsieur_ McClellan. We might have to do something about your possible involvement with Mary Hilliard." she announced.

"Man, what will it take for you two to believe me?" Yet, David still refused to acknowledge any involvement.

"Never mind zhat. Since you are still a suspect, you have to be with us for now.

"Huh? Seriously?" David was shocked to hear that he was suspected of being involved with a fashionista, but now he was being monitored by a bunch of detectives, and Watteau of all people!

Uneasy of the turn of events, Bastings approached Watteau and whispered to her.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It will increase our chances of proving whezher David is guilty or innocent." assured Watteau. "Besides, we could have a great chance at zhis, Bastings. We can solve zis case as we go." Watteau approached David, grabbing him at the back of his shirt.

"Alright. You know ze drill."

"Let's get a move on, lad." Bastings led the way.

"Hmph. I still think you'll be wrong about me." moaned David.

"Just come and behave yourself. We will be ze judge of zhat."

* * *

They took David, still handcuffed, with them as they exited the room and the station itself. They then awaited a taxi at the nearest taxi stop. Watteau continued to inspect David's increasingly impatient behaviour. But there was no sign of any wanting to escape. David just sat there at the bench, showing no sign of hostility, unless you think looking angry was offensive.

"Uh, Watteau." Bastings called. "You did hear Sergeant Redford, right? This could be a task only meant for the military. Interfering could mean breaking the law."

"Unless we bring ze case to ze light." clarified Watteau. "Besides, if anyzhing happens, I can try and get us out of it."

"Alright, but I don't see why David should come with us."

"Don't worry so much, my dear Bastings. I'm beginning to zhink zhat bringing him along is ze best idea of ze day. Besides, I have security clearance from ze President himself."

Bastings could only raise an eyebrow curiously, interested on knowing what Watteau could be implying about. It took five minutes for the Detective Bureau's exclusive travel-anywhere service taxi to arrive and send them to Army Base Benedict.

* * *

After two hours, they arrived outside the base, which looked more like a naval docking bay than a regular inland army base, for training men to man landing craft and other water vehicles used for amphibious landings. Watteau and Bastings walked over to the guard post at the entrance, with David behind them, still unwilling to claim anything about Mary, but there was still no intent on making a run for it.

"I smell trouble here." Bastings mused.

At the guard post, there was a man dressed in a military uniform and holding a Tommy gun, standing guard. They stopped in front of him as he held his hand up to halt them.

"Halt." He told them. "This area is for military personnel only. State your business." Watteau walked towards the man to state her purpose in the area.

"We are here to investigate a possible case of theft here at zhis base." Watteau reported to the man. The guard seemed curious and went into the post. He looked through a clipboard. After a few seconds, he came out to the group and shook his head. Even with her good intentions, the soldier refused her any permission to enter.

"I'm sorry. But an investigation is already being carried out by a Sergeant Redford. I cannot allow you to enter." Despite the setback, Watteau still grinned. This was her time to pull out her wild card.

"Zhat is okay. I so happened to have special permission from…"

When she put her hand in the pocket inside her suit, searching for the Presidential permit that would allow her to carry on investigations anywhere by permission from the President, she paused. There was nothing in that pocket! The permit which she could have used to easily enter the base, was not there. She could only chuckle in embarrassment. The guard just couldn't have it.

"Sorry, ma'am. No permission, no entry."

Watteau could only walk in disappointment, Bastings and David followed her.

" _Sacre bleau_. I must've left it back at ze office." she sighed. "So much for ze direct approach."

"So what are you going to do now, huh?" David insulted the detective with a smirk.

"Watch it, you." The boy smiled in delight, annoying the detective even further. "But fear not. I have another plan. Follow me."

* * *

They went over to the chain fencing blocking passage to the base to where no one would be able to see them. Watteau crouched down next to the fence.

"Bastings, bring me ze " _Fraises spéciales de cachette Bonté_." With her hand out, Watteau asked Bastings for a tool with a rather odd name. The detective partner still looked into his pocket, judging by what Watteau intended to do with the wired fence.

"If you mean these wire cutters, here you go." There was some hesitation in Bastings mind. Cutting into a military base seemed very risky, if not dangerous for their careers. However, with such a crisis in their midst, it had to be done, no matter the cost.

David rolled his eyes. Watteau then proceeded to cut through the thick linings until an opening on the fencing was made. Bastings kept the cut off fencing as they went right in through the narrow opening. Bastings then took out a tube of glue and brushed at the pointy ends. He then pasted the fencing bit to where it was before. Now it looked like as it was never cut in the first place.

"Man, how ironic that a bunch of detectives actually erased their own evidence." David taunted.

"Come on, Bastings. If I have to end anozher episode of his boldness, it should be right now." huffed Watteau.

The three of them walked on through the outdoor area of the base. Just everything you would find at a docks were there; shipping crates, large cranes, tug boats and even the old Higgins landing crafts, ready to send brave Marines to land on enemy beaches. As they snuck through, passing every guard they nearly stumbled upon, they arrived at a huge warehouse in the middle of the area. The almost equally large sliding doors were shut tight. They looked for side entrances but there were guards on watch. Every step must be taken with caution.

"No way in. Zis is going to be harder zhan expected." noted Watteau.

"Come on, Watteau." insisted Bastings, who was not feeling the urge to barge in on military matters. "Maybe Sergeant Redford's right. Maybe we should leave this to him."

"And lose our best chance to catch zhat fashion loving creep in crime? No way, Bastings."

Defiant as always, Watteau relented, holding her chin and thought for a bit, but she was once again put off by David.

"Look, your partner has a point. We should just leave before the guards come by."

Watteau shook her cane close at him.

"Ah ah ah. I'm not going to fall for zhat, if it were to deliberately delude _moi_ from catching Mary. If you want to prove you are innocent, zhen hush." She tapped her cane at his chest so hard, David almost fell down to the ground.

"Alright. Your loss."

Watteau continued thinking hard for a few seconds. Then, she looked up at the building and saw an open ventilation shaft near the corner of the front doors. An idea has come to her.

"Bastings. Do you still have ze grappling hook and rope we used during ze attempted heist on ze _Lourve_?"

"Why yes. I so happen to have it with me right now." Bastings then reached for his pocket and took out the same tool used for said event. "Why?"

"Because I zhink we are going to make like Santa Claus and come down ze shaft." She pointed out to the vent above them, confusing the two boys in her vicinity.

"Doesn't Santa Claus come down a chimney?" said Bastings.

"Eh, I had nozhing else." The detective just shrugged. They quietly rushed to the front of the building and below the shaft. She took the grappling hook and rope from Bastings and swung it like a lasso. Afterwards, she threw the hook up the shaft, but it missed and hit the wall instead, releasing a loud clank sound.

"Hey, we're trying to get into the warehouse, not redecorate it with dents." David pulled out some new taunts at the detectives.

"And I suppose you could do better?" Watteau shot back.

"Heh. Piece of cake. Here." Much to Watteau's surprise, David took the hook from Watteau and pulled it back the hook quietly and swung it himself. And away it went. This time the hook successfully latched on to the shaft.

"Yes!"

Bastings' faint but still alarming sound nearly gave the two a fright.

"Sssshhh!" Watteau hushed her partner, causing him to slap his mouth with both of his hands.

"Whoops."

And alarming it was, for two passing guards were coming right at them! They walked by, with flashlights shining here and there. One of them was also holding a Colt pistol with his right hand. Watteau and the others gasped silently.

"Quick. Zhis way."

They hurriedly detached the grappling hook and snuck behind a pile of crates just in front of the building. The guards approached in front of the crates, oblivious to the presence of the trespassers, but still vigilant.

"I know I heard something here. It was like a loud yell." The first guard said.

"You sure?" The other guard was not so sure, prompting himself to walk on.

"Come on. Y-you're kidding me, right? You were like a meter away from where I was. How could you not hear what I heard?"

They walked past the hiding spot and walked over to the other side. Watteau, relieved of the seemingly passing threat, slowly put her foot out to move out of the hiding spot. However, the two guards stopped in their tracks.

"I'm telling you. I know I heard something with my two own ears." The first guard relented. Alarmed, Watteau retreated back to the hiding spot. The two guards walked back the other direction. Fortunately for Watteau, the two guards were still arguing on and on.

"Nah, maybe your ears need a good treatment. Go see a doctor once later."

"My ears are perfectly fine."

They stopped in front of the hiding spot and flashed their lights around. Some sweeps barely missed Watteau and the others. But they stayed put, gently swinging their lights here and there. It's a wonder how they were missing the hiding trespassers. Watteau was looking real cross and impatient, itching to move a muscle.

"We have to lose those two guards."

Bastings looked around. After a few seconds, he found a stone on the ground. After picking it up, he tossed right over the guards at such great distance. Once the stone landed, it skipped a few times, releasing faint tapping sounds. The guards quickly turned to the direction of the sound.

"What was that?" Finally, the second guard was now able to hear a sound.

"Now you heard something?" The first guard spat.

"Come on. I think it went this way." Without further argument, the two walked off in a hurry to pursue the source of the sound. They seemed to have gone as far as where the stone had landed, but they just kept on walking off further into the distance. Only then did Watteau, Bastings and David come out.

"Well, that worked." David uttered.

"Good throw, Bastings." praised Watteau.

"I have a knack for baseball, don't you know?" said Bastings with pride. They gathered up and resumed their ascent to the ventilation shaft. They climbed up the rope and when all three are in the shaft, Bastings wound up the rope and placed it back in his pocket. They crawled on inside the long shaft and turned on every inner corner. The vents were really dusty and not to mention, rusty.

"Blimey, what a mess." Bastings moaned in silence after having to touch through the dust and filth of the old vent.

After navigating for a minute, they finally got to another end of the shaft, overlooking a huge, spacious room with thousands of crates and barrels. There was even a smaller crane inside. It was somewhat quiet and dark as would any closed building interior. Just the sounds of calm waters from the nearby dock canal and even some squeaking rat noises.

"Hmmm if Mary would want to steal boots here, zhen she would take forever. A great chance." Watteau tipped her hat, anticipating an advantage over her pampered nemesis.

But the ground below was too far for them to jump down to. So Watteau looked around. She looked at a tower of crates in front of them and judged the horizontal distance between her and the crates. Then, she climbed out and hung on to the edge of the shaft opening. She lifted her legs up to the wall and with one push, she made an impressive leap across and caught hold of the crates. She proceeded to climb down the pile like climbing down a mountain. She then grabbed a nearby ladder and took it to the shaft for Bastings and David to climb down. They all made it to the floor.

"Alright. Now that we are here, what's next?" asked Bastings, looking to Watteau for their next course of action."

"We fan out and search for Mary or anyzhing zhat could lead us to her, given zhat we are not too late." Then, she looked at David, hoping to make sure that he does not do anything foolish during their search. "But when I said fan out and search, I meant me and Bastings splitting up." She walked over to Bastings and put her faith in her partner. "Make sure David doesn't leave your sight, Bastings."

"Argh!" it was starting to get on David's nerves now. Scratching his hair in irritation, he spat back at Watteau. "This is getting annoying. Why can't you believe me?"

"Until we solve ze case. And when zat happens..." She tapped her cane at his chest, trying to put her suspect back in his place. "...only zhen we shall see if or not you are guilty."

Thus, Bastings and Watteau separated and went on different paths, with David forced to be under Bastings' watch. At Watteau's end, she walked along a narrow aisle with towering shelves of crates and barrels on both sides. She eyed on here and there, looking for possible leads to Mary Hilliard. Every two seconds she walked, her cane tapped along the floor. And every time she needed to stop and look at a stationary position, she would lean her hands on that cane.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are, Mary."

* * *

Meanwhile, Bastings and David were walking the other direction from where they were separated from Watteau. And this time, at each side, there were also crates and shipment packages, but were all piled up in stacks or towers instead of being neatly organized in the large metallic shelves. They walked on and on until they reached a waterway that would be used to have a cargo ship to dock and be loaded with the endless amounts of supplies inside the building. And indeed there was a huge cargo ship docked in there at the moment. They looked around the place. Just then, while Bastings was looking at the place, David walked back a little bit behind him, unknown to Bastings. And then, he began to walk off.

"Hmmm. This should be a probable place for an escape route." Bastings surveyed the area.

Suddenly, out of the blue, Bastings felt a strong force, pushing him at the back. It was so strong that he was tumbling over the protective railing that would prevent him from falling into the water.

"Woo- WHOAAAA!" He fell right into the water, head first. He dived down deep with his entire body submerged under the salty sea water. And he was nowhere to be found. Just then, a sihouette of a man came by to watch as only bubbles came popping out at the surface. He then disappeared as he walked off deeper into the warehouse, leaving the poor detective to drown in the dark waters of the docking bay.

However, after another few seconds, at the site of the splash, more and more bubbles began to surface. Next, with one gush of water, Bastings finally emerged out of the water! He floated on after coming out and swam towards the nearest platform. He climbed up to safety, lying down on the floor, taking deep breaths and choking up, tired.

"Well, that was…" Bastings uttered between coughs. "…refreshing..."

* * *

On the other hand, Watteau was still walking on until she was at a cross-junction area. She thought of which to turn to - either go right or left, straight or even back. But then, when she was about to make a decision, she saw something behind a forklift truck at the left turn. As she looked closer, there it was. Another dark silhouette! It then made a mad dash to the left turn.

"Hold it right zhere!"

But the figure did not listen. It ran as fast as it could, and so did Watteau. She chased the mysterious being throughout the area. Other than making runs on the ground, it also attempted to shake her off by climbing up crates and hopping across shelves. But Watteau could do just as much and with such ease. But at one point when the figure made a leap from a shelf to another, Watteau nearly fell doing the same, but held on to the shelf and put herself back up. She continued her pursuit for a few minutes. Then she came across a large space of crates that seemed to be filled with military equipment from the logos and labels that would discourage people from opening them. She lost sight of the pursued silhouette and scanned the area with her sharp eyes for it. But for all she could look for, there was not a single trace. She walked a little further into the area when she spotted a peculiar-looking crate. It looked like it was shaking. Watteau moved closer and tried to touch the box. But as she was about to, something leaped out of the box and tackled her down to the ground! It was the figure. And this time, his clothes could be seen clearly. He was wearing a plain black wool shirt and dark green jeans. He had a nearly fat stomach and a mask to cover his face. From there he held a baseball bat with his right hand and raised it in the air, while pinning Watteau down with his left one. He was ready to swing it down on her! But before he could launch a strike, Watteau immediately kicked him with her legs at his stomach, sending him flying a few inches away and landing on his back. Watteau recovered from the attack and took her cane. The masked man then tried to attack back with his bat but Watteau knocked his hand with her cane and sent another knockout blow to the head. The man fell to the floor dizzy and then, unconscious. Watteau spun her cane as a victory pose. She then tied up the crook with some long rope she found nearby and sat him up against a pole.

" _Désolé_. But I have had enough headaches for one day."

Then, she saw someone coming around the corner. It was Bastings. He walked towards Watteau, seemingly weak and soaked.

"Bastings." She called out to her partner, concerned over his appearance. "What happened to you? You're even wetter zhan a fish out of ze water." Then, to her shock, she also noticed the absence of David. "And where is David? I zhought I told you to watch him."

"Let's just say I've had fun swimming with the fishes." answered Bastings, almost angrily. "Thanks to an uninvited guest. And I've got a good feeling I know who it was." Before he could continue, he was then halted by Watteau.

"Never mind zhat. While you were taking a dip in ze canal, I found zhis scoundrel giving himself quite ze chase." They walked towards the unconscious man, Bastings noticing the knocked out man for the first time.

"Who do you think he is?" Was he an accomplice of another Mary Hilliard heist? This was the most important question up their minds.

"Only one way to find out." She held on to the mask to unravel the identity of the man she was chasing so thoroughly throughout the vicinity. With one firm pull, the mask was off. And the man's face was visible.

" _Sacre bleau_!"

Watteau's face was filled with extreme shock and so was Bastings'.

"Great Scott! How can it be?!"

"Watteau: It is... It is..."

* * *

But just as Fern was about to let loose the big secret, a few knocks on the room door were heard.

"Huh? Oh uh, come in."

The door opened and in came her mother, Doria Walters. The mother looked into her room, seeing that her daughter was still up.

"Fern dear. You're still up? Do you know what time it is?" she said.

"I know. Time for bed." Fern then adjusted herself on her bed, putting her book away and laid back down. "Just trying to find something to complete my night."

Doria then turned to the hill-sized pile of crunched-up pieces of paper at the corner. Unpleased with this, as most mothers would, she let Fern know of her tolerance for cleanliness.

"My goodness! What happened here?" she exclaimed.

"Um." Fern chuckled with a nervous voice. "Rejected ideas for my spare time."

Doria just sighed, refusing to raise her voice at her daughter since it was quite late in the night.

"Why can't you be more like your father?" She then smiled. It was quite typical of looking at Fern's room and spotting evidence of her hard work, even it much of the evidence were discarded and scrapped ideas. "But it's getting late, so I'll let this slide. But if you don't clean this up tomorrow, it'll really slide down, if you know what I mean. Alright, honey?"

"Of course, mum." Doria then tucked her daughter to bed and exited the room.

"Good night, my little writer." She bid Fern a good night before shutting the door behind her.

"Night, Mum."

Fern let herself relax under the comfort of her pink-coloured bed. Now that she thought of it, she was now feeling really drowsy from her little writing session. Looks like she found a way to find some sleep after all, and it was through something she enjoyed doing.

She let out a strong yawn before settling down for the night.

"I think I'll finish the chapter tomorrow."

And thus, she began to doze off to dreamland. And this might leave you to wonder; who was the identity of the mysterious masked man? What was it that shocked our heroes? And just what happened to David? All intriguing questions that shall be answered on the next chapter!

* * *

 **Another chapter complete! And boy was this long or what?! Anyway, hope you read and review soon!**


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